


Like Real People Do

by Vestina



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Rey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Bisexual/Demisexual Ben, Depression, Emotional Constipation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Forced Cohabitation, Fuck Or Die, Heat Sex, Hux is Actually a Great Friend, Infertility, It physically hurts if they don't touch, Mating Bond, Omega Ben, Oral Sex, PTSD, Past Kylux, Past Non-consensual Surgery, Therapist!Maz, Trauma, a/b/o dynamics, antagonists to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-10-01 00:23:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20456024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vestina/pseuds/Vestina
Summary: “Well... cool,” she says lamely. “I guess then I’ll call you if something comes up too.”His jaw tightens. “Don’t call me unless you have to. I don’t want to be your emergency contact. I don’t want to get drunk texts when you’re lonely or horny. I don’t care if we’re a genetic match. I don’t know you, and I don’t need to know you."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited for you all to read this fic. It's the longest thing I've ever written, and it's *almost* all complete. I'm anticipating about 10 chapters.
> 
> Title comes from the Hozier song of the same name.

When Rey Jackson steps off the plane at JFK airport, she decides it’s only the fourth most terrified she’d ever been. 

The third was when her parents left her on the steps of the church, five years old, the nuns desperately trying to keep her from running back to the people who should have loved her but chose not to.

The second was when Unkar Plutt brandished a fire poker against her after he caught her with a bottle of his scotch.

And the first...

She doesn’t think about that day often. 

“Passport please,” the woman at customs barks at her. “Visa too.” Rey’s fingers tighten around her documents before handing them over. She doesn’t like them in the hands of someone else. Not when she fought so hard to get them. The customs agent, a Beta by the scent of it, scans them quickly, stamping her passport. 

“And your proof of designation?” the woman says. Rey lifts the sleeve of her shirt to show the barcode on her forearm. The woman scans it quickly, barely even glancing at the screen.

“Welcome to America, Alpha.”

* * *

She studies computer science at university. Gets lucky enough to room with Rose, the world’s kindest Beta. Rose is a medical student and incredibly dedicated both to her work but also her friends. The guys across the hall are cool too, Finn and Poe. Rose thinks they might have a thing for each other, but Rey isn’t so sure.

It’s weird, being an Alpha in the United States. There’s respect, reverence wherever she goes. So different from the disgust in Britain.

“I don’t get it,” she tells Rose once after they’ve been immediately seated at a restaurant with an hour and a half wait. “I mean, they always said it was better for Alphas here, but this is insane.”

“That’s what happens when the ruling class and the politicians are all Alphas. After the radiation turned people, many of the people who ended up being Alphas were celebrities, politicians. Weren’t the lower classes hit in England?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. There aren’t that many of them, but Omegas are treated like shit here too. I mean, nothing like England, but...”

Rey presses her lips together, unsure how she feels about the arbitrary nature of this privilege she’s been handed, presumably at the expense of Omegas.

Her food loses flavor as she eats.

* * *

When she graduates, her co-op job turns full time, and she’s swept into the company with little forethought. Her first official day there, her boss calls her Rainey. She clenches her teeth together, and says, “Sir, I need a green card and a path to citizenship.”

But they’re a big company with an inordinate amount of resources. And they make it happen. 

Six months later, she’s standing in the courthouse, with a brand new document.

They can’t force her back to the United Kingdom. She’s safe. She’s here.

Which is why she almost faints eighteen months later after turning on the eight o’clock news.

_“In a startling twist of events, twenty-one Democrats have signed on to the controversial marriage bill after an addendum was added that strictly limits the amount of nuclear waste that power plants can produce. In an attempt to increase the population of Alphas and Omegas in the United States, this law will require all unmated Alphas and Omegas between the ages of 21 and 35 to mate within the next year. Extensive DNA analysis will be used to pair individuals, and couples will be expected to produce offspring within five years of mating. Many are calling this an unconstitutional violation of privacy, but with the number of conservative Alphas currently sitting on the Supreme Court, it seems unlikely that this law will be overturned.”_

__

__

In 1960, after Russia launched a nuclear missile at the United States, and the U.S. retaliated with five of their own, the world was plunged into chaos. Immediate peace talks kept any more missiles from launching, but the radiation set off changes in DNA. No one was exactly sure how the changes to biology began, if they were mutations caused by radiation, or if they were late vestiges of mammalian DNA rising to the surface just in time to induce a rapid repopulation after a massive loss, a species trying to save itself. 

And here they are, sixty years later.

Persecuted in some countries.

Revered in others.

They can’t make her leave, right? Now that she’s a citizen? Even if she can’t... even if she can’t...

She shuts the television off. 

* * *

She gets the letter in the mail on a cold Tuesday. Skims it until her eyes focus halfway down on his name.

_Your selected mate is Benjamin Solo._

There’s a telephone number and an address below, so she can get in contact with him if she wants before the mating ceremony in three weeks. 

The address is close by, a small town not far from her big city. She wonders if that factored into the calculations that chose him as her mate. Carefully, she folds the paper and inserts it back into the envelope. She knows that she should feel angry about this. Furious that they are taking her choice away from her about who to mate. 

But in all honesty, she never thought she would have a mate. 

She didn’t think she could.

She’s been alone for so long.

She knows it’s not perfect. Knows he could find out. But she’ll risk it. She’ll risk anything to never go back there. 

* * *

She fidgets in her seat, smoothing the plaits in her dress, waiting at the courthouse. 

“Breathe, hon,” Rose says.

“I’m not nervous.”

Rose gives her a withering look. “You’re about to be mated to someone you don’t know. You are allowed to be fucking nervous.”

“I’m not, though.”

She nearly jumps when the clerk calls for Rey Jackson and Benjamin Solo. 

Rose squeezes her hand and walks with her to the counter. She sees him stand up, his long legs unfurling from the chair. 

She wonders if he’s attractive, if this combination of features is one that she likes.

There’s no denying his scent is incredible. She’s scented Omegas before, (they’re not as rare as people think), but never one this close. She runs her tongue between her teeth, wondering what he’ll taste like when she bites.

There’s an older Alpha woman with him, her lips pressed together, and it takes Rey a moment to realize that this woman is Senator Leia Organa, a woman she recognizes from frozen dinners parked in front of the news. Rey idolizes the woman's brother, the reclusive inventor of the phone that she’s currently using.

A thin, bald man lurks behind Solo and the senator. Rey’s nose upturns at his scent: one of an Alpha far past his prime.

The clerk pulls out a scanner and has both her and Solo roll up their sleeves to reveal their barcodes. Scans them for proof of identity. They are both handed a pill with a small cup of water.

“What is this for?” Rey asks.

“It will increase your hormone release to prep for the mating.” Rey stares into the cup, this single white pill staring back at her. 

She glances at Rose, feeling her stomach coil. Rose nods at her carefully, encouragingly. She closes her eyes as she places the tablet on her tongue, swallows the water.

“This way,” the clerk gestures.

She glances over her shoulder at that tall figure. He won’t look at her. Keeps his eyes trained on the clerk instead. 

“This could be a good thing for you,” Senator Organa says to him.

“I didn’t ask you to be here,” he replies.

They’re lead to a small room where a judge sits behind a bench. “Alpha Jackson and Omega Solo,” the clerk introduces before leaving, the door clicking shut. 

“Your guests may sit,” the judge says. “Ms. Jackson and Mr. Solo, step forward.”

She had asked Finn and Poe not to come. They weren't able to take off work anyway. So it’s just Rose sitting awkwardly next to the well-put senator she can only assume is his mother. The bald man sits in the back, a scowl plastered on his face.

She’s not really paying attention as the judge reads off the series of legal ramifications of the event. She signs her name on the paper when the judge asks her. The bald man, Mr. Snoke the judge calls him, cosigns with Solo. What relationship these two men have is unclear, but Snoke glares at her like she’s done something horrible.

She feels her heart racing, a burning tension in her blood. There’s a tense ball of butterflies in her stomach, and she just wants to run away-

“It is at this point, Mr. Solo, that I am going to ask you to remove your shirt and kneel in preparation for the mating bite. Remember, Alpha, that your bite must draw blood in order to complete the ritual.”

She averts her gaze as his layers come off, his suit jacket, the button down, the undershirt. His skin underneath is pale, the muscle below lean. He kneels, facing away from her. Her eyes run up his spine, fixating at the spot between his shoulder blades. His legs are set far enough apart that she can step between them. She hesitates before trailing her fingertips across the curve of his shoulder. His scent is stronger here, and there’s a part of her that wants this, wants desperately to mate him, the feeling bubbling in her throat, pooling in her belly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

"Just get it over with," he says gruffly.

She bends, tucking her hair behind her ears, and bites. He doesn’t cry out, only stiffens as her teeth sink into his skin. His blood is thick and salty, and she can only imagine how awful this must be outside of the bounds of sex, no endorphins flowing through his system to mask the pain. Only that white pill. As she pulls away, she watches, transfixed, as the blood drips down his spine.

But she can smell his scent shift, twisting to become more like hers.

She reaches for the damp towel to pat away the blood, the antiseptic and the bandage following soon after. His shirt is back on within minutes. She only catches a flash of well-defined abs as they disappear beneath the hem. 

He still isn’t meeting her gaze.

“Alpha,” the clerk says. “Please roll up your left sleeve to reveal your mating gland.”

She is immensely glad her mating gland isn’t on her back like his, glad she doesn’t have to bare herself like that. She pulls her sleeve up to her elbow to show off the small spot on her wrist. Solo yanks her wrist to his lips, biting quickly, before dropping her hand, never once meeting her eyes. 

She gasps at the pain, biting her lip quickly to swallow the sound. There’s a feeling of relief as her scent changes to match his. The tension that little white pill caused flees her system. She presses a bandage against her bleeding skin. 

“Congratulations,” the judge says. “You are mates.”

* * *

Senator Organa insists on taking them out to lunch as they’re leaving the courthouse. 

“I insist,” she says. “And, please, call me Leia. We are family now.”

Ben glowers harder. “Mother, lunch is really unnecessary.”

“Hmm, it seems necessary in order to get to know this young woman better. You will join us, Rey?”

And just as she squeaks out a “yes,” she feels a hand on her arm, and when she turns, it’s Snoke looking down at her, his pale eyes boring into her. He keeps her there, waiting until the rest of them have walked a bit ahead. Solo glances back but doesn’t seem to care about this man gripping her arm.

Snoke’s voice comes out thin and reedy: “Don’t for a second think that this makes him yours. You may be physically and legally connected, but he is not yours.”

“What are you-”

“Don’t fuck with me, little girl.”

“Rey!” Rose calls. “Are you coming?”

Rey turns back to Snoke. 

“Are we clear?” he asks.

And Rey nods dumbly before shouting, “Coming!” back to Rose.

Snoke makes an inane excuse to get out of lunch that Rey can barely hear over the roaring of blood in her ears.

They find a small burger place where Rose chatters on to Leia about med school, and Rey and Ben (that’s what his mother calls him) just stare at their food. 

“Will you take a walk with me, Rose?” Leia asks. “I think these two need a chance to talk things through.”

They exit, leaving Rey alone with her _ mate. _

It’s quiet for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know this situation is shitty. But I want you to know, I don’t expect anything from you. I’m not going to try to control your life or anything. We don’t even have to move in together if you don’t want.”

“I don’t want to move in with you.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Is that it?” he asks.

“I guess so. You have my phone number if anything comes up, right?”

He sighs, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes. It’s gorgeous, really, the way it contrasts with his skin. She looks away. It’s got to be this weird flux in hormones making her feel this way. “Yeah.” 

“Well... cool,” she says lamely. “I guess then I’ll call you if something comes up too.”

His jaw tightens. “Don’t call me unless you have to. I don’t want to be your emergency contact. I don’t want to get drunk texts when you’re lonely or horny. I don’t care if we’re a genetic match. I don’t know you, and I don’t need to know you." 

“But-” The word is small against her lips, cut off by his abrupt standing and donning of his coat.

“Goodbye.”

“Is it because of that guy?” she blurts. “Snoke? Is that why you don’t want me to contact you?”

He stiffens. “Just don’t call me.”

He buttons his peacoat and walks away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the most common word used to describe the first chapter was *intriguing* and I'm choosing to take that as a compliment. It's chapter two, baby, and we're only upping the intrigue!
> 
> CW for mild thoughts of suicide (it's a blink and you miss it moment). HOWEVER: if you or someone you know is having thoughts of suicide, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255.

“What’s he like?” Rose asks when they’ve gotten home, each splayed across one arm of the L shaped couch, old episodes of _Downton Abbey_ on, glasses of Merlot in hand.

“I mean, you saw him. He’s pretty awful, but at least I don’t have to live with him.”

“Damn girl, you really got screwed.”

“Rose, I am most definitely not getting screwed by that man.”

Rose snorts. “There’s no way he’s a good lay. He’s too self-invested. You got the better end of this deal.” Rose is quiet for a long moment before saying, "I guess you can’t be too mad at him for being an asshole. You do legally own him now, and he’s probably not too stoked about that."

Rey rips her eyes away from Maggie Smith. "What?"

“Where have you been Rey? Omegas don’t have a lot of rights here. He’s what, 34? He’s probably had to jump through several hoops to live as independently as he has, and now he’s saddled with you.”

“Oh,” Rey says softly. She certainly can relate to that, having been tossed around in foster homes until she came to the United States.

But some things are also shifting into place. Snoke’s signature on their mating papers, his creepy threat, the side-eye glares Leia threw at him.

Rose has already turned her attention back to _Downton Abbey_. “Ugh, I can’t believe what a bastard Barrow is this season!” __

_ __ _

“Total lonely bastard,” Rey agrees.

* * *

She goes on. Like it never happened.

She goes to work. She goes to the gym. To the grocery store. To the bank. She goes out in the evening with Finn and Poe, and Rose, and sometimes Kaydel, letting the alcohol peel away her insecurities. 

She does not drunk text him.

She starts to notice a throbbing behind her eyes, a persistent fatigue that never abates, the feeling that she has the chills even when the temperature hits ninety degrees.

She takes some Tylenol, and she moves on with life. It's easy to ignore the angry, red mating mark on her wrist when she wears long sleeves.

Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes, she lies awake at night wondering if anyone would notice if she just disappeared.

But in the morning, she rises again, another day of routine, another day...

* * *

She’s running late for a girls’ night out with Rose and Kaydel, when Ben Solo’s name pops up on her caller ID. She considers letting it go, ghosting the asshole, before remembering that it’s most likely an emergency. 

“Hello?” she answers. 

“Where the fuck are you?” the voice on the other end hisses. She doesn’t think it sounds like Ben, but it’s been weeks since she’s heard his voice.

“Who is this?”

“Your idiot mate is going to have irreversible brain damage if you don’t get your ass over here.”

“What on earth are you talking about? Who are you?”

The man on the other end sighs audibly. “The education system fails us when it comes to sex-ed. Have you been feeling aches and pains, migraines, chills?”

She hesitates. “Yeah, I mean, the flu has been going around-”

“That’s not the flu." How is his voice so condescending? "It’s a reaction due to prolonged separation from your mate. I don’t have time to explain it to you, but you need to drive over here. He’s practically passed out on the living room floor.”

“What’s... what’s the address?"

She smashes it into her phone as he gives it to her, the map stretched out in a jagged red line. 

Forty-two minutes later, she finds herself at a cabin on the edge of the woods. The closer she gets, the more her skin buzzes. She exhales and walks up to the porch. The door opens before she can knock.

“Finally, his mate arrives,” says a red-head she can only assume is the asshole who called her. He smells like the worst kind of Alpha.

“I was here as fast as I could.” She pauses. “And it's Rey, by the way.”

“Hux.” He juts his chin to where Solo lies on the couch. The whole room smells overwhelmingly like him, thick and heavy and irresistible. His body is pale and trembling so hard that the couch cushions jerk.

“He looks like he’s having a seizure,” she says softly. “What do I do? I don’t know how to fix this.” 

Hux laughs through his nose. “You’re not going to like it. It’s skin to skin contact.”

She swallows at the thought of pressing her skin against his, a clawing craving scratching at her insides. She clenches her teeth and pushes it down. “How do you know all of this?” she asks.

“I’m a doctor.”

She feels her blood pound harder at this revelation. Swallows hard. “A doctor?” Her voice is a squeak.

“An OB-GYN. It’s what I do. Take your clothes off.”

She stares at him for a long moment, her gut clenching. “I’m not taking my shirt off.”

Hux sighs dramatically. “It’s his funeral. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Just touch him.”

Ben’s shirt is nowhere to be seen. The skin of his chest looks pale and clammy. “Is there a customary way to do this?” she asks hesitantly.

“As much skin contact as possible.”

His scent is everywhere. She can’t think straight; it blurs her senses. She slowly, carefully, places her palm across his chest. Instantly, she can feel her migraine fall away.

“Your pheromones are what’s going to calm his system,” Hux says.

Rey turns her hand, moving the gland on her wrist, the one without the mating gland marked with his scars, to press to the one at his throat. His shaking fades. She bites her lip and eases her leg over his body, straddling his waist. Slowly, carefully, she lays herself across him.

He’s warm beneath her, his skin smooth to the touch. Her hair splays over his shoulder, and she tries not to think about how well defined the chest is under her ear. 

“Are you and him,” she asks softly, “together? Is that why he hates me?”

“Ben and I? No. Well, yes, in college, but we haven’t slept together in... years, ages. I’m happily mated to an Omega who’s more Alpha than I am.”

She looks up at him, her ear still pressed to Ben’s chest. “Is he in love with you? Ben?”

Hux laughs, a sharp bark more out of derision than humor. “No. Ben doesn’t love anything. I’m not even sure he loves himself. He trusted me enough to get him through heats in college, and now he chooses to do that shit on his own. We’re friends, and I make sure he isn’t dead.”

She doesn’t respond to this.

“How long?” she whispers to Hux maybe thirty seconds later.

“You could speed up the process by just taking your shirt off, but if you really refuse to do that, you’ll like your other option less. It’s... intimate.”

“More than this?”

Hux raises his eyebrows. “Oh sweetheart, it gets so much more intimate than this. Why did we develop this archaic adaptation in the first place? Because our species craves sex.”

She can feel her brows furrow in what is presumably the most horrified expression. Hux rolls his eyes. “Just stimulate his mating gland. That should do the trick. For now.”

Rey sits up. “Oh. Okay. It’s not weird if I do it here? In front of you?”

A devilish grin weaves itself on Hux’s face. “I’ve seen so much more than that from his body.”

She chooses not to think about that too hard. Hoists herself off his waist, and looks at Hux expectantly. “I can’t flip him by myself.”

Hux drags himself off the armchair, and together, they heave him to the floor, his stomach pressed into the carpet. 

She spies his mating gland, small and pale, marred by two dark curves.

She did that.

Those are hers.

Nearly involuntarily, she reaches up, forgetting that this is exactly what she’s supposed to be doing. There’s a jolt when her fingers find that raised part of his skin, a livewire that makes her jittery. 

He gasps underneath her. “What-” His voice is raspy and sharp. She thumbs the spot again, watching one of his eyes flutter shut as she does.

“Careful you don’t get his dick hard and overwhelm his system,” Hux says, and Rey snatches her hand away. 

Ben’s eyes open. “You can get off me now.” Hurriedly, she does, scrambling away from him.

“I wish you hadn’t called her here,” he says to Hux. 

“Oh yes,” Hux sneers back, “I should have let you die instead.”

“I would not have died,” Ben mutters. “And you’re getting me different suppressants, right? So that this doesn’t happen again?”

“I am not,” Hux says. “There are no suppressants for this. There is no cure, no quick fix. I don’t think either of you understands what is going on here. Your systems are both in shock. When you performed that ritual, you each transferred a piece of your essence, so to speak, to the other. But your bodies don’t know how to cope like that, without that piece. Which is why touch is so fucking important. Honestly, you two should still be touching. You’ve been away from each other for what? Three weeks? Thirty seconds of physical contact and a few flicks of the mating gland isn’t going to solve that.”

Ben sits up. “Where’s my shirt?”

Rey glances around the room, before realizing it’s right next to her. She tosses it to him, belatedly realizing that now his scent is on her hands. 

“So how exactly does this all work?” she asks Hux.

“Touching each other does two things. It restores the hormone level in your brain, the oxytocin, and the other endorphins. It’s also is pushing you two to reproduce, which came in handy two generations ago when the human race was dying off.”

“Oh,” says Rey quietly.

“Yeah, ideally, I’d make you two have sex, and it would solve a lot of things, but clearly, that’s not going to happen.”

Ben turns to her. “You can leave now.”

“Sure, she can leave,” Hux says, “but that solves literally none of your problems. This same thing will happen again in two weeks and she’ll be back.”

“I don’t need her.”

“I’m literally right here,” she protests. “What if we scheduled a couple of times a week where we saw each other-”

Hux cuts her off. “If you think that will be enough-”

Ben stands up, climbing the stairs to whatever lays on the upper floor.

“Where are you going?” Hux asks.

“Bathroom.” Even though it’s very clear that’s not true.

“You can’t walk away from this, Ben. We are trying to help you!”

“Let him go,” Rey says. “He needs time. This isn’t something that just clicks.”

But Hux is chasing him up the stairs. Rey can’t see their faces, but she can hear the murmur of their conversation. Can hear Hux’s aggravated “What the fuck is the problem, asshole? Is this more of that Snoke bullshit?”

“Among other things.”

“You are not legally his anymore. And you are putting your health in danger to keep this up. I can’t keep saving your life like this.”

“I’d certainly still be alive if you weren’t here,” Ben says.

“Clearly nothing I say matters at all,” Hux says.

“Can you stop being a bastard for two seconds?” Rey shouts to Hux. “You don’t have to be a smarmy know-it-all.”

Hux doesn’t seem deterred. “Can’t you already feel yourselves getting better. Your migraines are gone, you’re not passed out on the couch. This was twenty minutes. Imagine what this is like all the fucking time!”

Ben isn’t even looking at the two of them anymore. Hux turns to him. “Two weeks. Live together for two weeks.”

“I’m not moving out,” Ben says. 

Rey purses her lips. This place is in the middle of nowhere, away from her job, her friends, her make-up bag.

“What if we did half our time here, and half our time at my place in the city?”

Ben runs a hand over his face. “No.”

“Yes. Excellent compromise,” Hux says. “Also, you two should definitely sleep in the same bed. You’re both having withdrawal symptoms, so I’d say at least eight hours of physical contact. More if you can manage. And if you decide that sex is in the cards, you should do it. You should definitely have sex.”

Ben won’t meet her eyes at that. She decides to shrug it off. 

The room is quiet for a minute. “I guess I’ll go back to the city and get my stuff then,” she says. 

“Yeah,” Ben says. 

Hux walks her out. “He’s always an asshole like this. As long as I’ve known him.”

“Just like you?” she asks.

He rolls his eyes. “Look, Ben? I’d say he’ll open up to you, but the truth is, he probably won’t. He’s been through some stuff.” Hux eyes her for a moment. “But something tells me you have too. Just... don’t be stereotypically Alpha with him. Don’t force him into anything.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.”

* * *

She calls Rose on the drive home. “Sorry I didn’t make it out for girls’ night.”

“It wasn’t really girls’ night. Finn and Poe showed up. What happened to you?”

Miraculously, she manages to recount the whole story without sobbing.

“You didn’t know?” Rose asks when it’s over. “About how mating changes you?”

“I grew up in a home run by nuns. How would I?”

“I’m sorry he’s an ass.”

“Me too. There’s no way I’m skipping the next girls’ night.”

“You know where to find me, Kaydel, and a fuck ton of tequila.”


	3. Chapter 3

She stuffs some clothes in her overnight bag, her bra straps getting caught in the zipper. 

She stops at the small burger place on the corner. Picks up a carton of sweet potato fries, the only thing she saw him eat at that miserable lunch after their mating ceremony. 

She knocks quickly on his front door when she returns. He answers with an expression of revulsion. 

“I brought you some fries.” She offers up the paper bag. 

He doesn’t even look at it. Just turns around and stalks up the stairs. 

She sighs coming through the door, shrugging her bag off her shoulder. It’s already eleven: the sun set ages ago. She’s exhausted, he’s clearly not coming back anytime soon, and there is no way she is just going to march up there and crawl into bed with him.

She creeps into the kitchen, trying not to rummage through his cupboards as she searches for a Tupperware for the fries. Sets them in the fridge. She returns to the living room. Drags a blanket over her body, stuffs a throw pillow under her head. 

She’s nearly asleep when his voice jolts her awake. “What are you doing?”

“I was sleeping before I was rudely interrupted.”

“Down here?” His voice is steady but she notes the tension in his shoulders. The stiffness in his jaw. A sharp shift in his scent.

Like he’s hurt. _ An Alpha rejecting her Omega. ___

_ __ _

“I didn’t think you wanted me in your bed.”

“It might help with the pain.”

She can’t argue with that.

She follows him up the stairs to the master bedroom. Gapes a little at the king-sized bed.

“Are your clothes comfortable? For sleeping?” he asks.

“Uh...” she looks down at her rumpled button-down and tight jeans. 

He goes into his closet and throws her a t-shirt so long it surely will hit her knees. He turns his back while she changes. 

She keeps her bra on.

The shirt smells like him, rich and dark, with a hint of something like bergamot.

“Thank you,” she says. 

He offers a soft grunt. 

“Do you have a side you like to sleep on?” she asks.

He juts his chin to the left. She nods and rolls back the comforter on the right. Crawls between the sheets. There’s a long stretch of quiet that crawls up her back.

“I don’t care,” she blurts, “if you’re not attracted to me, or women in general, or if you’re in love with someone else, or if that guy Snoke hates me, or if you just want to be alone.” She stops, not sure she’s steady enough to say the next part. She chooses her words carefully so they don’t come out as lies. “But we’re expected to have a child.”

He gives her a bland look. “You look about as excited about that as I do. I say we put it off as long as possible. Wait for this whole government thing to blow over and save ourselves a whole lot of trouble.” 

In what is perhaps defiance of Hux on both their parts, they never touch once during the night. 

* * *

  
Her alarm vibrates far too early for her liking, but her drive into the city could take her at least ninety minutes during rush hour.

She yanks a blouse and some slacks out of her suitcase, grabs her toothbrush, and escapes into the bathroom before he can hear her. 

With the fluorescent light on her face, she can see the bags under her eyes. She roots around for her concealer.

The thing is, she looks better than yesterday. Feels stronger. She’s not in pain.

She flicks off the lights and tries not to dwell on it.

Work is a drag.

_Can I bring back dinner?_ she texts him.__

_ __ _

_No. _ is his reply, and she can’t tell if he’s rude or just bad at texting. Does it mean he’ll cook? Does she need to fend for herself? __

_ __ _

She pulls off the expressway, buys takeout from the Taco Bell on the corner, and devours it in seven minutes sitting in the parking lot.

Her migraines have returned with a vengeance, pounding against her eyes.

She throws her head back against the seat and, valiantly, she does not cry. Not one tear. 

He isn’t even there when she gets back to his place in the middle of the woods. She can’t imagine where he could possibly be, and she supposes that she really doesn’t care. She crawls into his bed surrounded by his scent in the sheets.

Resists the temptation to reach between her legs to release a little of the pain in her skull, the quivering in her core.

And when she wakes in the morning, he’s as far to the other edge of the bed as he can possibly be.

* * *

  
Wednesday, she throws up at work.

She doesn’t know what the fuck her body is trying to tell her, only that whatever she and Solo are doing, it’s not nearly enough. She’s managed to avoid talking to him, seeing him awake, since that Sunday night he let her sleep in his bed. 

But his car is in the garage when she comes back that evening, and she realized she doesn’t really know how to act. Should she knock at his door?

She raps a couple of times at his backdoor in warning before letting herself in. 

His kitchen smells incredible: garlic, and oregano, and _him_. “Hi,” she says, with only a little corner of trepidation in her voice. __

_ __ _

“Hi,” he says. He’s sauteing something she can’t see, pushing it around in a pan with a purple spatula. She hovers in the doorway, her coat still on, briefcase in hand, just staring at him. “Are you just going to stand there?” he asks. 

She drops her briefcase. Kicks off her shoes. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks flatly. “The lasagna is almost done.”

She can still taste the taco on her breath, and she is so close to saying no, except for that nagging Alpha voice. _You’re rejecting food from your Omega. He did something nice, and you’re saying no. ___

_ __ _

_ __ _

She nods at him, scared he can scent her betrayal. 

He bends and opens the oven door with a swoosh. She rinses her hands at his sink, but when she turns back to look for a towel, her elbow grazes against his arm for an instant. She freezes, stunned by the sudden buzzing she feels across her skin, the rush of dopamine into her brain.

“Fuck,” he bites out, flinching away from her. He stares very pointedly at the casserole dish in his hands and most definitely not at her.

She pointedly watches him set the glass tray on the stovetop until he looks back. 

“What?” he says, probably too aggressively.

She wants it so badly. To run her hands over his skin, to explore the crevices of his body, to relish languidly in his heat.

Instead, she forces herself to stand rooted to the spot as he dishes her food. “Enough,” she says after the first scoop, can’t stop her hand from reaching out and curling around his wrist to still him. 

He freezes again, pausing only a moment before breaking from her grasp. Takes his plate out of the room.

Leaving her feeling even more alone than before.

* * *

  
Thursday, she goes out (finally) with Rose and Kaydel for drinks. The bar is dim and dirty, and the alcohol is only passable, but it has karaoke, Kaydel’s favorite.

“Come on, Rey! You and I are going to do Lady Gaga!” Kaydel shrieks. 

There’s a cute Omega boy behind the bar who winks at her when she orders the local IPA on tap. She doesn’t know how she ends up pressed against him in the bathroom, his lips grazing her throat.

Only that it feels good.

But it’s not what she’s been craving

His scent is more sandalwood than bergamot. His touch doesn’t set her skin on fire, doesn’t quench the painful blaze in her blood.

“I can barely smell him,” the Omega says against her throat. “He doesn’t give you what you need. He doesn’t worship you.”

It’s then that Rose bursts through the door. “Rey!” she says. And then quieter, “Rey, don’t do this.”

The boy only gives her a soft smile before backing away.

“I can’t go home like this,” Rey says. “He’ll scent-”

“Good,” Rose says. “Make him jealous. You’re miserable, Rey. And he’s a fucking asshole for refusing to touch you.”

“It’s not... it’s more complicated...”

“You deserve to be happy, Rey.”

* * *

  
She trembles the whole drive home.

He’s at the kitchen table when she walks in the door around eleven. “Where were you?” he asks. And it not confrontational, just curious.

She watches as his nostrils flare ever so slightly. Knows what he’s smelling. 

“I was out,” she says eventually.

“Evidently.”

Part of her wants him to be furiously angry like Rose suggested he could be. Wants him to start screaming at her. 

But he only sits there, face not angry, but certainly not open.

She wonders if he can smell her shame underneath it all.

She hurries out of the kitchen, wanting nothing more than just to collapse in bed. Could she rile him up if that other Omega’s scent stained his sheets?

But in all honesty, it’s making her queasy. She had hoped that the scent would have dissipated by now, but it clings to her skin like brambles. She blasts the shower pressure as high as she can, as hot as she can make it. 

It doesn’t matter how much soap she uses, the scent lingers, heavy in the steam of the shower. She flips the water to cold until her teeth chatter, only then noticing that the hot water cascading down her face is in fact tears. She feels empty when she steps out.

There’s a folded t-shirt on the counter, too large for her and faded grey from repeated washings.

A t-shirt that wasn’t there when she had closed the shower door. 

She ignores it, pulling on her own pajamas before flipping off the light.

* * *

  
  
Friday evening she has half a salad leftover from lunch that she figures will be better than another Taco Bell repeat. Most likely those sweet potato fries are still in the fridge. She tries not to get upset at the thought that her Omega chose not to eat the food she brought him, and focus more on the fact that there are sweet potato fries waiting for her.

She’s clutching the plastic salad container when she opens the door, and nearly drops it when she sees who is sitting at the table.

“What are you doing here?” she asks Hux.

“You are an idiot,” he says. There’s an Omega woman sitting next to him, platinum blond hair grazing her chin.

“Are you going to introduce me?” she asks flatly, kicking off her shoes in annoyance.

“Phasma," the woman says blandly. "And Hux is right. You’re a fucking idiot.”

She did not ask to be accosted the second she got home. Work was shit, she’s got a raging migraine, and now these assholes (who, frankly, she doesn’t even know) are calling her an idiot.

She sighs as she drops her bag. “Is this about last night? Because it honestly didn’t seem like he cared very much.”

“What the fuck did you do last night?” Hux asks. “You know what? It doesn’t matter because he’s going into shock again. Have you even touched him since I’ve left?”

She feels her jaw drop in horror. “ Are you fucking with me? Where is he now?”

“Upstairs,” says Phasma.

“Why didn’t you call me about this?” she asks, the words a little clenched behind her teeth.

“He’s curled up with a shirt I dragged out of your laundry basket. He said you’d be home.” 

Rey shrugs off her coat and then her sweater, leaving her only in a tank top as she pushes past these two fuckers, and marches up the stairs.

“You didn’t notice it? I can’t believe you didn’t feel it too,” Hux says following behind her.

“Stop interrogating me.”

Ben’s sitting on the edge of her bed, fingers tangled in her sleep shirt, staring at it so adamantly. Like it will cure him.

She approaches cautiously, knowing that he heard her by the way he stiffens. She reaches out, tilts his face up in her hand. She feels the initial spark of his skin fade into a pleasant hum, so different than the pounding that’s been afflicting her for weeks. 

Her eyes flutter shut. His breath comes easier. 

“What the fuck is this?” Hux asks, coming into the room with Phasma. “You call this touching? Ben, it doesn’t have to be sexual. You just have to touch each other. You don’t crave it?”

“Back the fuck off, Hux!” she snaps. “Being mated doesn’t make us soulmates.”

Phasma rolls her eyes. “I agree, but you two can try to be civil, and you know, not leave the other to die.”

It’s a miracle Rey doesn’t punch her in the face. “I don’t need fucking either of you to lecture me!”

“Fine,” Hux says. “You don’t want our help, then we’ll leave. I’m not dealing with this shit. You two can go kill yourselves in peace.”

And he’s gone. She can hear the door slam and his car drive away. 

“I don’t need you to fight my battles. Especially not with Hux,” Ben says.

“That was my battle too. I don’t want this any more than you do. It’s fucking inconvenient to drive into the city.”

He scoffs. “I’m not asking you to be here.”

“Are you shitting me? You’ve passed out twice! You fucking need me here to function.”

“You’re not some hero, Rey. You’re not saving me. You act like this is some big sacrifice that you’re doing for my part. I never wanted you. I never wanted any of this.”

“You think I asked to be your mate?” she shoots back. “I had just as much of a choice as you did. And yeah, I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t need me to be!”

“You’re fucking selfish. You need me. Do you think I don’t feel your hands brushing my arms in the middle of the night? I’ve watched you take Tylenol like candy. You need this too!”

Her jaw drops. “You can’t be serious. I’m not the one acting like a hostile bitch. You won’t even touch me!”

“Yeah, is that why you went out and fucked another Omega, Rey?” He’s practically shouting now.

“Really? You care about that? You’re not even attracted to me.”

“Did Hux fucking tell you that? I’m sorry I have I to spell it out like this. No. I’m not okay with you just going out and scenting some other Omega.”

She scoffs. “You didn’t seem to care much last night.”

“What did you want me to do? Fuck you into the mattress? You wouldn’t even wear my scent.”

“That shirt was nothing more than pity because you know I didn’t fuck him! You know that scent was nowhere near strong enough! Honestly, Ben, I don’t know what you want. I don’t know how to make whatever this is between us better!”

“Maybe you should actually be here, instead of wherever you go all day!” he spits back.

This is fucking unbelievable. “Are you talking about my job? Yeah, I fucking go to work and make money! Not like the pissing around or whatever it is you do!”

His hand shoots out, grabbing her wrist. She gasps a little when his fingers touch the mating gland there.

“What are you doing?" she asks looking down at his hand wrapped around her wrist, the only point on her body that feels anything at the moment.

“I have a fucking migraine. And for some idiotic reason, this makes it better.”

She runs her other hand through her hair. “What do we do?”

He shrugs.

She pauses for a long second. “I hate to say it, but I think Hux is right.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“I think this ‘skin to skin contact’ might be good for us.”

Even as she says it, she can feel her anger melting, can feel his touch seeping into her muscles.

“Okay.”

They sit next to each other in his bed, backs against the headboard, books in hand, arms touching from elbow to shoulder.

“I’m hungry,” she says twenty minutes later, realizing she never ate after coming back.

“There’s food in the fridge,” he says, eyes trained on his book. “I made some this afternoon before this all happened.”

She looks at him softly. “Thanks, Ben.”

* * *

It goes on like that, not easy, but passable. There isn’t as much glaring when they sit next to each other on the couch for an hour in the evening. 

It turns out they both like PBS. Just not the same shows...

“You’re one of those assholes who likes Antiques Roadshow, aren’t you,” she asks him. “That and all those documentaries about World War II.”

“Your ability to read my preferences is uncanny. And I bet you’re really into the period dramas.”

“Don’t you dare criticize Masterpiece Theater. It is an international treasure.”

Later, they slip into bed as usual, as far to their respective edges of the bed as possible. 

It’s only in the morning that she finds herself in the center of the bed, curled against his backside. His body is warm, and the rise and fall of his back is heavy. It takes her an extraordinary effort to pull herself away, entranced by his warmth, terrified to rouse him.

His breathing stills as she pulls away, but he doesn’t move.

She slips away as quietly as she can.


	4. Chapter 4

Day ten. She finally convinces him to spend a few days at her apartment. She has late-night business calls with Vietnam, and there’s no fucking way she’s also losing sleep over that fucking commute. 

Her apartment is considerably smaller than his cabin in the woods. A part of her fears her queen-sized bed won’t be large enough to prevent the gravitation that happens between their bodies at night. 

She opens the door, letting him in past her. “It’s not much,” she says. He drops his duffle on the floor. “Hungry?” she asks. “I think there’s some pasta sauce around here somewhere...”

She bangs some pots around, boils some water, and twenty-four minutes later sets in front of him what is possibly the most poorly prepared dish of pasta anyone has ever made. 

“So um... if you put enough parmesan cheese on top you won’t be able to tell...”

He takes a tentative bite. There’s a soft crunch as he bites down on the pasta. 

“Uh wow...” He grabs the green cylinder of cheese. Dumps out a generous amount. “Is uh... the sauce burned?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad. You don’t have to eat it,” she says.

But he takes another bite. And another. When he’s finished, he says, “You know, I think I might make dinner tomorrow. 

* * *

Whatever temporary truce they established at his house vanishes in her apartment. She leaves for work in the morning only to return at 6:30 to find that he’s rearranged the entire apartment.

“Where the fuck are my spoons?” she asks him incredulously.

“That’s what I was asking this morning. Your organizational skills are atrocious.” 

Her bed is a queen, in theory, large enough for two, but every time she rolls over, he’s kneeing her in the back, and, eventually, she gets so fed up that she drags a blanket to the couch and curls up there. She needs sleep more than she needs his touch. 

She doesn’t think he likes the confined space. He’s pacing when she comes home that evening, intermittently jotting things down on a notebook balanced on the window.

“You don’t have to stay here all day,” she says. “You can go to a coffee shop. Hell, you can go home if you want. You have a car.”

He just glowers at her. "You do know it's illegal for me to drive unaccompanied by an Alpha, right?"

“This isn’t my fault, dude. Don’t get mad at me.”

She rolls her eyes when he doesn’t respond and goes into the bathroom to pee.

Walks back out 5 seconds later.

“Ben.”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck happened to the mirror?”

In his defense, he does look guilty for the spider-webbing cracks radiating out of her bathroom vanity. Carefully, slowly, she approaches him. Takes his hand, the warm relief of his skin tainted by the shallow cuts on his knuckles.

“Are you ok?”

“Fine.”

She arches her eyebrows at him.

He purses his lips. “I’ll get you another mirror.”

“Ok.”

* * *

“I want to try something,” she says one night after she’s come home from work. There are bags under his eyes, and he looks as exhausted as she feels. Their skin to skin contact has been sporadic, only spurred on by Hux’s aggressive texts.

Their interactions are sparse and charged with repressed anger.

“Would it be easier, “ she asks, “less intimate, if we tried touching back to back?”

She still doesn’t like the idea of taking off her shirt in front of him, but maybe if his back was turned to her... If he couldn’t see...

He blinks at her blearily. 

“I want to help you,” she says. Why is she so close to tears all of a sudden? “I want you to help me. I know it’s a lot, but we are connected. It’s shitty, but I can’t keep living like this. I just can’t. I’m exhausted all the time. These migraines keep me from getting anything done. You’ve passed out. Twice. I know it’s weird, and I don’t know you and all we do is yell at each other-”

“Okay,” he says. “How?” 

She sets out two pillows on the floor in front of the television. She turns her back to him, yanking her shirt over her head. She leaves on the sports bra underneath, afraid that when her back touches his, she’ll touch his mating gland. 

She hears him cautiously lower himself to the pillow behind her, his back to hers.

She stops breathing when his skin touches hers. It’s like sinking into a hot tub, her muscles relaxing all at once. She pulls her scapula close together trying to press as much of her skin against him as possible.

She feels the ripple of his exhale. “Shit...” he chokes. She lets her head fall back against his shoulder. 

“Damn, Solo, you’re jacked,” she says. “Do you just work out all day, when I’m not here?”

She feels him tense. “Not all day.”

“You don’t need to sound defensive. I don’t really care what you’re up to,” she says.

He lets out a soft laugh. “Even I know that’s a lie. You’re curious.”

She looks down at her hands, not quite sure what to do with them. “I didn’t think I was that easy to read.”

“You’re not. We’ve just been living together for a while.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t know how she feels about the fact that he’s starting to pick up things about her. She wonders what else he’s noticed.

It’s a long moment before he says, “I write. Books.”

“You’re an author?” She’s a little surprised. It’s not something she’s ever pictured from him.

“Yeah.” 

She wants to know more, but this in an incredible amount of information he’s already shared, and she doesn’t want to push it. The television chatters in the background. She feels her eyes drooping shut, a wave of calm cascading over her. She fights the fatigue, not wanting to feel vulnerable near him. Alphas are not vulnerable...

She pinches the inside of her arm. It hurts more than she expects, and she yelps. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, twisting around to look at her.

“Yep,” she says too tightly. 

“Rey,” he says.

“Can... Can I fall asleep here?” she asks. 

“Yes,” he says, and somehow, impossibly, it’s only that simple.

* * *

After another week, he’s grown jittery enough that she relents, and they pack up to return to his cabin in the woods. She doesn’t say much on their ride up, a little angry with his adamant requests that they return here. 

They’re walking in the door, and she’s wondering if she should be passive-aggressive or confrontational about all this, when Ben stops dead in his tracks, and she bumps her nose into his back. 

“What-” she starts, but she is interrupted by a slow snarl coming from across the room, and when she peeks out from behind Ben’s huge chest-

It’s Snoke, lazing in the armchair on the other side of the living room, and Rey stiffens, wondering what would happen if she just dropped her bags and ran out the door. 

But Alphas don’t run, especially not from other Alphas. And Ben, he’s jittery, and she smells the sharp scent of his fear. She watches the muscles in his neck jump. And whoever this man is, he makes her Omega feel unsafe. 

And she’s about to tell him off, to scream at this man for invading Ben’s home, his privacy, when Ben says, “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“I thought you were going to give up on this weak Alpha.”

Rey’s ready to march over there and punch him, but Ben’s hand comes around and grips her wrist, anchoring her in place. “What the fuck do you want?” she hisses instead.

Snoke laughs in a humorless, sharp sound. “I told you what I want. I want you to stay away from him.”

She lets out a sharp laugh, pushing past Ben despite his soft protests. “You know it’s not that fucking simple.”

Snoke rises from his seat. “You’re still mine, Kylo Ren,” he says to Ben. “Do not forget that.”

Ben’s looking at his feet. “Of course, sir.”

Snoke has moved so his face is right in front of Ben’s. “Your next draft is due back to your editor by tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

And then the man has moved past them, out the front door, slamming it behind him.

Neither of them moves until they hear the car spin out of the driveway.

“Ben,” Rey says, her voice quiet, furious. She’s trembling, and it’s unclear whether it’s out of fear or rage or adrenaline- “Who the fuck is that?”

“You remember meeting him. At the courthouse.”

“Yeah, and he threatened me there too."

Ben doesn’t say anything to that, just walks away from her.

Rey grits her teeth. “No. I don’t pry into your personal life, but this is different. That guy is practically threatening me, and if we need to go to the cops or-”

“We’re not going to the police,” he interrupts. 

“Oh yeah? And why the fuck not? He broke into your house!”

Ben stares at her a long moment. “Technically, he owns the property. Omegas don’t have land-owning rights.”

Her mouth falls open. “You live on his property? Why?”

Ben’s in the kitchen now, preheating the oven and greasing a glass pan. She follows him into the small space and waits for him to talk. “My parents were terrible. They were never around, and they didn’t care. They kept me locked in the house until I was twelve and then they sent me to boarding school. When I turned sixteen, Snoke approached me, told me he could take over as my legal guardian. He gave me freedom. And I took it.”

Rey wants so badly to tell him that this is not freedom. That she’s known enslavement, and she’s known freedom, and this man controlling his life is nothing good.

“And what happened when you turned eighteen?” Rey asks. “Why are you still with him?”

Ben laughs without humor. “You don’t get it. I don’t have legal rights; I chose him to be my guardian, and now that we’re mated, that falls to you, Rey.”

She feels her mouth go dry, completely at a loss for what to say. “Ben, why is he still here?”

“He’s my agent. He’s how I’m able to sell books.”

“He called you Kylo Ren. Like the science fiction novelist?”

“I mean, technically they’re space opera.”

Rey rolls her eyes. “Believe it or not, I read the first one.”

“Rey, just don’t make a big deal about Snoke. It’s fine.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the general consensus from last chapter was that Snoke is the worst, which, like, fair. But I'm pretty sure the general consensus for this chapter will be, wow, Ben is a DumbBoy, which, tbh, is also fair.
> 
> It's okay friendos! The HEA is coming (eventually)

“I have to go on a business trip,” she tells him. “It’s going to be a couple of days away.”

“Okay,” he says.

“It’s probably going to be pretty difficult, you know, to be apart?”

He shrugs. “We’ve done it before.”

It’s hot the day she leaves, a muggy humidity lingering in the air. As always, she rises before him, staring at his sleeping form for a long moment, watching him breathe. His hair flops over his face, and it strikes her that she really does find him beautiful. She can’t help reaching out her hand to his, squeezing, taking in that last bit of lightness before she leaves. His eyes flutter a little, and she panics, dropping his hand, and skittering out of the room before he can figure out what she was doing.

The flight is long. The man next to her hogs her armrest, his dewy skin touching hers uncomfortably. 

She checks into her hotel, exhausted, the pricks of her migraine coming in. Her first conference session begins in twenty minutes, and she really has to get moving. She finds the badge for her conference, trying to figure out how to untangle the lanyard when a soft buzzing rings in her ears, and she blinks-

And then-

Eerily quiet. No sound, just him in front of her. 

She hears the soft thud of her lanyard hit the carpet. “Ben?” He’s shaking, his eyes wide and his skin clammy. “What’s happening?”

His eyes are trained on her so intently that she feels the need to turn away. She resists, letting the sight of him wash over her, settle into her brain.

He lets out a choked laughed. “You weren’t supposed to find out about this.”

She takes a step closer to him, reaching her hand out to his face. He flinches when her skin touches his. It’s not like touching someone who is actually there- more like a ghostly impression.

“Why..?” she breathes out.

“I assume it’s because I’m in the throes of a heat.”

It’s the surest punch to the gut she can imagine. The blown pupils, the clammy skin, his jittery energy, it makes sense now. She can scent it, his arousal, his need, faint but there. It sends something dark and possessive through her. 

She opens her mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes out. There’s a pull, a desperation in her gut that propels her to stroke his hair away from his face. But her fingers seem to pass through his phantom form. “I didn’t know it would connect us like this,” she says.

“I didn’t either.”

She glances down to his cock straining at his shorts. “Do you need me to-”

“No.”

“Ben-”

“I don’t need your help, okay.” 

It hurts, the pinched look on his face, but she supposes she can’t do much with phantom touches. But everything in her tells her that he’s desperate, that his blood is boiling, and, fuck, this is her duty, to care for her mate, especially in heat.

She shuts her eyes so that she can’t see him. “Ben, honey. I need you to touch yourself. I need you to...” her throat goes dry, and she has to swallow before she can keep going. “I need you to come. I need you to come, Ben. Come for me.” She can hear his fingers brushing against the fabric of his underwear, can hear his muffled grunt. “Good,” she says, her voice breathy. “You’re doing so good. Keep going.”

She feels, when he comes, their minds joining, their thoughts mingling. His pleasure is intense, enough that she feels waves of _ good _wash through her.

“I’m coming back,” she says when it’s over. “I’m going to find the next flight out of here.”

“You don’t need to,” he says. “I can do this without you.”

And if that’s not a punch to the gut... “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ve done it without you before. I can do it again.”

She takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she says. And their connection breaks.

* * *

It’s not easy to ignore their sporadic connection during this tech conference. And she very determinedly tries to ignore him, only offering coaching when he really seems to need it. 

It makes her want to throw up. It feels like she’s abandoning him.

She has to remind herself that this is what he wants. Has to remind herself that he asked for this.

She tries to throw herself into this conference, into packing her schedule and from learn from these insanely intelligent people.

It’s only when she sees her hero, Luke Skywalker, founder of Skywalker Electronics, that she does something crazy. 

And really, what were the odds that they’d end up in the same hotel, in the same elevator, each on a floor that starts with a thirty-something.

“Mr. Skywalker, I love your work,” she says. “I’m really trying to develop-” and she starts chattering on about her job.

To which he gives her a short grunt and says, “Sure kid, what you’re doing is glorified IT support, but yeah, sure, you can do it too.” 

And he’s just about to exit the elevator, four floors below her exit when she blurts, “I’m mated to your nephew. To Ben.”

“Kid, I hope for your sake you’re just stalking me for attention because if you’re really mated to that boy, you’re in for a world of pain.”

And then he steps off the elevator.

And Rey has never felt more empty in her life  


* * *

His heat ends on the morning of the third day of the conference. 

_ You ok? _ She texts him, but she doesn’t receive an answer. 

Until that afternoon when Hux calls to tell her that he’s in the hospital. 

She makes the Lyft driver take her to the clinic directly from the airport. She’s ushered into a back room where Hux is scribbling on a series of pink charts.

“Is he okay?” she asks breathlessly.

“No thanks to you.”

“Hey! How the fuck was I supposed to know he was going to go into heat?” She’s trying not to breathe. The smell of this hospital... it’s eerily similar to the one she was in before...

“I don’t know,” Hux sneers. “Maybe actually have a fucking conversation with him.”

“You can’t blame me for his inability to communicate. I try.”

Hux rolls his eyes. But then he’s looking at her harder. “You’re functioning extraordinarily well for having just had a rut without your mate.”

Fuck.

Shit.

“A rut?” she asks in a faux-innocent voice.

Hux’s eyes narrow. “You didn’t rut, did you?”

“So? Why would I?” 

“I don’t know, maybe because your mate was in heat, which should have triggered a similar reaction in your body?”

She stares at her shoes. “Is that how it works?”

“Rey-”

“Can we not talk about this here?” There are a couple of nurses in the hall chatting about the new episode of some television program.

Hux shuts the door. “You smell like an Alpha. You mated him. Are you not-”

“No,” she says defensively. “I’m an Alpha. But I grew up in England, and they-”

Hux’s eyes narrow. “Do you know exactly what they did to you?”

She shakes her head. “It wasn’t like they told me after. But I more or less know.”

“I’ll do an MRI. We’ll figure this out. After you see Ben, though. You’ve got to help him first.

* * *

She panics when she jolts awake, unsure where she is. But his scent is there, the solid form of his body, warmer than a blanket. She had curled up next to him in the hospital bed when soft touches weren’t enough. 

Hux is at the door, a grim expression. “We ran some tests on him. Is he awake?” 

She elbows Ben in the ribs, and he blearily opens his eyes. “What?” he asks, his gruff voice sounding sorely used.

She moves to sit up, to move to the chair next to the bed, but Hux gives her a warning look.

“So. You are both in deep shit.”

“Yeah, yeah we’ll touch each other more. We get it-” Ben grumbles.

“You don’t though.” Hux has gone deadly serious, and Rey realizes she might actually be afraid of him. “Solo, you did what was possibly the stupidest thing I can imagine. You purposely went off your suppressants to induce a heat? Do not mishear me. It’s a huge problem, and honestly, I’m pretty sure the only way to get your dopamine and oxytocin levels back to normal is to have sex.”

“What?” Rey shouts. She feels Ben stiffen beside her. “You can’t just prescribe him like opioids or something? Those release dopamine.”

“You really don’t get it? You two are connected. Except your bodies are disconnecting because you’re spending this time apart. And then this jockstrap decides to run around and have a heat without you? Have sex. I’m sorry. It’s the only way.”

She digs the heels of her hands into her eyes. She is so not awake enough for this. Or drunk enough.

“Go home,” Hux says. “Figure this out. And Rey?”

She looks up at Hux, whose face has turned soft. “Yeah?”

“I scheduled your MRI for next week.

* * *

“We don’t have to,” she says later, after they’ve come home and showered and crawled between her sheets. She’s been jittery ever since they spoke with Hux, a jumpy feeling that she’s now realizing might be horny anticipation. 

She can tell he’s trying to work up the nerve to make a move, the way his scent is laced with anxiety, and, perhaps, lust.

“We don’t have to have sex," she repeats.

“You don’t want to.” His voice is low, his eyes trained at the ceiling.

“I didn’t say that. What if there was another way?”

“Hux was pretty clear about sex being the-.”

“What if I held your hand and you... and we...” The word won’t come out. Fuck her own prudishness. “And we masturbated? Ourselves. We would be touching and would still orgasm. It’s not perfect, but...”

“At the same time?”

“I mean, it would be less awkward than if one us just watched the other one.”

He lets out a half-laugh. “Yeah.”

“I can pull up some porn,” she says after a long moment. He hesitates enough that she feels compelled to add, “Just to make things easier.” He wrinkles his nose a little before nodding.

She doesn’t ask if he has a preference, can’t bear knowing his fantasies, and instead just clicks on the first thing she sees. 

It’s really rapey, which, for her, is far more disgusting than titillating. Her fingernails on her clit are harsh. If she just focuses her eyes in the corner of the screen rather than on the writhing bodies so she can see his hand moving beneath the sheets, maybe-”

“Rey,” he interrupts.

“Yeah?”

“Is this doing anything for you? Because it’s fine if it is, but, for me, it’s just kind of...” He trails off, but she’s already snatched her laptop back, pausing the clip before it can go farther.

“Maybe you should choose this time.”

His choice is classier. It’s still porn, but more tolerable. She can focus more on the sound of his hand thwapping against the sheets as he strokes his cock. 

It’s awkward using her left hand to rub along her inner lips, but her right hand is gripping Ben’s, and there’s no way she’s letting go. She lets herself sink into the buzzing of his skin against hers. Usually, when she decides to do it herself, it takes her forever to relax into the rolling pleasure. But this, now? She can’t believe how good this feels. She presses her bare shoulder against his arm, desperately wanting more contact, everything he’ll give her.

His scent is spiking, heady and thick with his arousal. She fears she’s going to come before he does, in awe of him, his beauty- 

In the end, it’s watching him orgasm that pushes her over the edge into the most breathtaking bliss she’s ever experienced. He lets out a restrained “Fuck,” as he tips back against the headboard, his muscles tense with pleasure. She can smell his cum, and when she glances over, sees the blooming dark patch on the sheets. Her hand moves faster, desperate, wanting-

She doubles over, her forehead collapsing on her knees as she gasps over and over again, unsure if this pleasure will ever cease.

She yanks her hand out of his. Neither of them comments on how the characters on screen haven’t even started fucking yet.

She eases out of bed. “So. Things have to change. 

He doesn’t say anything, but his knuckles are white gripping the bedsheets.

“Why did you do it?” she asks.

“I was due for a heat. Thought this might be easier.”

“I would have helped you. If you had asked, I would have.”

He rolls his eyes. “Sure. Okay.”

The nerve- “What the fuck, dude? You think it was easy for me to watch you suffer from two-thousand miles away?”

“Yeah, maybe I didn’t want to pressure you into it.”

“Ok, but that is my choice to make! You don’t just get to put yourself in danger, and then blame me for not being there!”

She watches him grind his teeth behind the skin of his cheeks. He looks a little like he wants to punch her. She kind of wants to punch him too.

She huffs out a breath. “With this non-committal thing, it’s impossible to know where you stand. If you don’t want to have sex with me, just put it out there, okay? I’m not going to judge you for it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Her heart stops. “You... want to have sex with me?”

He rolls his eyes again, swinging his legs off the bed, and then just watches him leaves the room. 

“What the fuck, Solo?” she shouts, even as she hears the shower turn on. “You can’t just walk away from this!”

She tenses when he slams the shower door hard enough that the walls shake.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo friends! The beginning of this chapter is pretty heavy and falls into some historically problematic tropes. I'll talk about it more at the end of the chapter ❤❤❤❤❤
> 
> The second half of the chapter tho, that's all the good angst/fluff, I promise 😉

The MRI machine is so loud that she can’t even hear herself think. Which is good, because if she’s thinking, then she’s panicking.

When Hux finally releases her, the expression on his face is so pitying that she bursts into tears. 

“How old were you?” he asks softly. “When you had the procedure?”

“You make it sound like I had any choice in the matter.”

“I know you didn’t.” His voice, for the first time that she’s ever heard it, is gentle.

“I was thirteen,” she says. “I had just presented as an Alpha.”

“You remember it then. Do you want to know what they did?”

“They removed it, didn’t they?”

Hux nods. “You don’t have a uterus. Or ovaries. That’s why you didn’t rut; they took out the glands that release those hormones.”

She looks up at him through glassy eyes. There’s a stark relief in knowing, finally, what is  _ wrong _ with her. There’s also relief in not having to bear this secret alone. Before she knows what’s happening, the sobs are choking out of her.

“What do I do?” she asks. “The law- the law says that I have to- that Ben and I have to... have kids-” She gasping so hard on her own tears that she can’t keep going.

“Rey-”

“They’re going to send me back, aren’t they? When they find out. Or they’re going to kill me. So that they can mate Ben to someone else.”

Hux reaches out, grasps her hand. “It’s not leaving this room.”

“What?”

“I’ve already deleted the MRI images. We’ll figure this out.”

It’s all she can do to nod blearily at him.

“Rey,” he says softly. “Trauma is not something you just get over. I’d like to refer you to someone, a therapist. I trust her. She won’t turn you in. I’m also going to prescribe you hormone replacements.”

This catches her off guard. “What? Why?”

The corners of Hux’s mouth twist up. “So that the next time he goes into heat, you can rut right alongside him. Trust me, it’s an incredible feeling.”

* * *

She doesn't decide, per se, not to tell him about what she's learned about her body.

It just never seems to be the right time to tell him that they're not exactly compatible mates.

Or more that she isn't compatible with anyone.

She’s running late on a Thursday a few weeks later. She has a meeting with her boss that she really can’t miss, but her hair seems to have decided that today is not a day for cooperation, and no matter how many times she runs the straightener over her locks, they just won’t lay right. She abandons the flat iron, trying in vain to french braid it around her head.

He’s brushing his teeth next to her, and after he spits, he meets her eyes in the mirror. 

“May I?” he asks softly.

“What?” she asks.

His scent blossoms with something she might call embarrassment. “I can help. Braid it.”

She’s so startled that she drops the strand of hair she’s holding. “You know how to braid hair?”

He nods.

And she nods. 

There’s that feeling of relief as he steps into her personal bubble, his scent enveloping her, the touch of his skin bringing her a sweet calm. He’s so tall that he can easily reach down and unravel her sloppy work, can easily tilt her head to the optimal location.

His fingers wind methodically through her hair, tugging it into place. She watches him work, watches his eyes fixed pointedly on her hair. 

And it feels. So. Good.

She trembles a little, her fingers clutching the edge of the counter for support, unsure if anyone has ever touched her with this amount of care, this level of reverence. She swallows to get rid of the lump in her throat, not wanting to cry here, in front of him, but if he notices a change in her scent, he doesn’t betray it on his face.

He looks up, meeting her eyes as he twists the last few inches. She gets a little lost in his dark gaze, in the way his scent is growing heavy as his thumbs skim the sensitive glands at her exposed neck.

She feels something dark and heavy pool in her stomach. Wants to reach up to drag his lips to that spot on her neck. Wants to grind back against him and-

“Hair tie?” he asks, and shakily she reaches back to hand him the black elastic.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

* * *

When her alarm buzzes early the next morning, there’s a dead weight across her body. It takes only a second to realize it’s his arm. It’s warm and comforting, and the last thing she wants to do in her half-asleep state is pull away to get ready for work. Her eyes flutter closed, and she arches her back, her lips just barely skimming the column of his throat. She lets herself pretend that he craves this the way that she does. She doesn’t know how or why, but her hand snakes up his chest and into his hair.

His breathing hitches, and she realizes she’s going way too far, even as she’s pulling his head toward hers. She freezes, her eyes opening to find his staring right back. She opens her mouth to apologize, but his eyes have shifted focus, trained instead on her lips. 

It’s slow and indulgent, the time and space it takes for their lips to meet. It’s not nearly as explosive as she’d pictured. It’s warm and soft and bright. Her hand finds his shoulder, urging him onto his back so she can straddle his hips, cradling his face against hers. His hands drag over her ass, smoothing over her spine and into her hair. There’s an addictiveness to the way his lips caress hers. She can’t possibly ever have enough of this. It’s a chasm opening up to swallow her, and she embraces it. She brushes her tongue against his mouth, reveling in his taste, in the way his tongue dances with hers. 

She never believed he could want her like this. But maybe...

It’s as if she’s been doused in water, the realization that maybe his hands aren’t eager, but trying to push her away. That maybe he’s trembling because he doesn’t want this. 

Hux’s voice chimes in her head.  _ Don’t force him into anything. _

She pulls back, horrified. “Fuck. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to kiss you. I was half asleep. Not like that’s a valid excuse. It won’t happen again.” 

“Rey,” he says.

She can’t meet his eyes. “I need to go get ready for work.”

“Okay,” he says softly, and there’s something in his voice that she can pretend sounds like disappointment.

* * *

It's late on a Friday night. Work has been hell with her boss riding her ass about a project that really doesn't matter. So she does what any sane twenty-something would do, and buys the cheapest bottle of vodka that she can find at the 7/11 on her way home.

She drops it dramatically on the counter so that he looks up.

"Tell me something true," she says an hour later when they're four shots in.

"Fuck, this isn't high school, I'm not playing truth or dare with you."

“Nope, no dares at all. Just truth."

She thinks he's had more than her, maybe 5 or 6, but he's huge, so maybe he's not feeling it the way she is- 

“What do you want to know?” His voice is husky with that layer of alcohol, rich and beautiful.

She feels the devious smile creep onto her face. “What was sex with Hux like?”

He groans, falling back on the couch cushions. “I can’t believe he told you about that.”

“I mean, he didn’t give any details. Just that it happened during college.

He gives her a withering look, and says in a flat voice, “We were freshmen roommates. I had no idea how to cope with the stress of classes, not to mention that I was 18, meaning that I was having Heats once a month, so I was missing quite a bit of school. He was an asshole, but he took good notes. And when it became obvious that I was going through it alone, he offered, and I trusted him enough to say yes.”

She can picture it: Hux a little less weathered, but with that same dickish personality covering up that same undying loyalty. “Was it good?” she asks him. “The sex?”

“It was heat sex. Yes, it was good.” 

“That it? That’s all you’re going to give me?” She takes another gulp of vodka. "It doesn't matter, my turn. I dream about you sometimes. In ways I probably shouldn't."

She watches his eyes widen a little. "What... what kind of dreams?" 

She waggles her eyebrows at him, biting her lip a little. “You tell me, honey.”

“Fuck, you’re right, I deserve that.” He pauses. “Hux was really into choking.”

“Yeah, those are the juicy details the audience wants!” She swings her legs around so they land on his lap. “I guess that checks out. Hux is a control freak.” He’s looking at her expectantly, and she just laughs. “Fine, I lied, I don’t actually have dreams about you. You get another truth. Any requests?"

He stares at her a long moment. "Would you tell me about your scars?"

Shit.

Fuck.

“Which ones?” she asks softly.

They both know which ones he’s talking about, but she needs to hear it out of his mouth that this is the story that he wants to hear. So, it’s not surprising when he says, “The ones on your stomach.”

She wonders how he even knows about them. She thought she had done a decent job to keep them covered. Maybe her shirt had ridden up in her sleep, or maybe he had caught a glimpse in the mirror as she changed.

She wonders if he knows that this question will change everything.

She’s never told anyone this story. Not in the halting way she tells him. It’s gruesome and horrifying, and for some reason she wants him to know every detail.

She wants him  _ alone _ to know every detail.

She’s a mess when she finishes, her face hot with tears. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, “that I didn’t tell you before. That you didn’t know what a piss-poor Alpha you were mating.”

“Do you care that you can’t have kids?”

She tips her head back onto the couch cushions. “It would have been nice to have been given a choice in the matter. But mostly, I’m scared. I’m scared that they’re going to find out, and they’re going to kill me to break our bond so they can mate you to someone else.”

“Snoke can’t find out about this,” Ben says softly. “He’d use it to destroy you. To destroy me.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes brimming with tears again. “I’m so, so sorry.”

* * *

She can tell he hates the city. He’s antsy and jittery after a couple of days cooped up in her apartment. She tells him he should go out to coffee shops or the park around the corner to write during the day when she’s at work, but she has a feeling that he doesn’t like to write in public.

“Let’s go out this weekend,” she says over dinner. 

“Go out where?”

“You choose. Maybe hiking?” She doesn’t know what exactly it is that she’s eating, but it’s incredible. Garlicky and savory.

He looks skeptical. “I thought you hated the outdoors,” he says.

“I have never said that.”

“Yeah? We should go camping.” 

She wrinkles her nose. “Baby steps, hon.”

“There are some nice trails up north.”

And so, Saturday morning, they fill water bottles and lace athletic shoes, hopping into his Jeep and sailing down the expressway. 

She naps on the way up, leaning her head against the cool plexiglass of the window, the sound of the road lulling her into the liminal space between awake and asleep. She pretends not to notice when his fingers start to curl over her wrist, worrying the raised skin of the scar on her mating gland. She knows he’s just trying to reset himself; she’s not going to embarrass him by making a big deal out of it, even if the feeling of it sends lovely shivers down her spine.

He rouses her softly when they hit the road to cross over the state boundary. The Alpha officer in the booth comes around asking for their identification cards. When he sees their designations, he pulls out his scanner, running the red beam over the tattoo on their forearms.

“Newly mated?” he asks.

“You can’t smell it on us?” Ben snaps shortly. The officer narrows his eyes as if offended by the audacity for an Omega to answer for his mate.

“Congrats. You’re good to go.” And they drive through.

Their car is the only one there when they pull up to the trailhead. She peers cautiously into the blue-green depths of the forest while he checks their packs for the third time. 

“Ready?” she asks when she hears the distinctive  _ zwip _ of the backpack zipper. 

He nods.

They hike through the muddy trails. There was a rainstorm only the night before, and clumps of dirt stick to her shoes. It takes her about fifteen minutes to realize that they’re going up an incline, the grade steep enough to elevate her heart rate. 

She doesn’t realize she’s as out of breath as she is until he turns and asks her if she’s like to stop for water, and she can’t get the words out that, yes, she’d very much like that. He watches her carefully as he hands her the blue plastic jug. It’s large and heavy, and the water dribbles down her chin when she tries to take a gulp. 

“Stop laughing at me!” she protests when she can finally breathe again. The smirk on his face is practically a full-fledged smile. He takes the canister from her, his fingers brushing hers in the process. 

She watches as he takes a drink as well, his lips touching the same place hers did. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and she has to bite her cheek to not reach out and touch it.

They climb on. 

They arrive at the peak hours later, Rey dripping sweat, Ben decidedly less so. There’s a couple of picnic tables clustered next to the dropoff where they set their packs, digging inside for food. They sit with their back to the table, gazing out over the view of mountains in the distance, trees dotting the horizon as far as she can see. There’s a river cutting through the ridges, the blue of the water clear and sharp against the rocky terrain.

“Ben, this is incredible. How did you know about this place?”

“My uncle took me once when I was young.”

“Oh. Were you and him close?”

Ben is quiet for a long moment. “This is my one good memory of him. I was sixteen the last time I saw Luke. He didn’t even go to my dad’s funeral.”

“Oh,” she says because there’s nothing else to say. She hadn’t even known his dad was dead.

She makes the decision to lean her head against his shoulder as she takes another bite of her ham and tomato sandwich. She wants to know more, but she doesn’t want to push him. Doesn’t know how this story fits in with her dreadful interaction with Luke at that conference.

It starts raining when they trek back down the mountain, thick, heavy droplets that get caught in the leaves above their heads, dripping arbitrarily, soaking them through their clothes. She’s stumbling her way down the trail, unsure how she ended up in the lead when her foot slips on the mud, and suddenly she’s tumbling backward. Her stomach plummets in anticipation of the impact-

Her fall is stopped short by the cradle of his arm. Carefully, he rights her. She turns a little to look up at him, her breath catching as she does when she realizes how potent his scent is this close. It shouldn’t shock her as much as it does by now, how striking he is. His hair dark, plastered to his forehead, and dripping from the rain. And this time she can’t resist reaching out to tuck it behind his ears, relishing in the electric thrill she gets from touching his skin.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and he’s close enough that he must feel her breath on his face, and she must be imagining the darkening of his eyes. Carefully, she extracts herself from his grasp.

She’s shivering and her legs ache by the time they get back. He pops the trunk, grabbing towels to put under them.

The windshield wipers are on their fastest speed when he speaks. 

“Rey, I um...”

“Yeah?” She wonders if this is about his uncle again. 

He grits his teeth together, forces the words through a stiff jaw. “Were you serious when you said you’d help me through my next heat?”

It was not at all what she had expected. “Yeah. Yeah, of course,” she stumbles out. “When... when is your next one?”

“Ten days? Are you okay taking off work? I can always-”

“No.” She’s embarrassed by how forceful it comes out, how possessive.

She thinks about that bottle of pills Hux gave her, sitting in her medicine cabinet. Ones that will let her rut.

“We should do it at your place,” she says. “In the middle of the woods. Where no one can hear you scream-”

“Fuck you, Jackson,” he says, his fingers twining with hers again.

“Don’t sound so excited about our sex-cation!” She looks down to where their hands are entwined. “Are you feeling okay?” He doesn’t usually touch her unless he needs to. “Do you want me to drive?”

“I feel better now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends. So, I really went back and forth debating whether or not to make Rey infertile. I know this is a trope that has historically been used by male creators to "make female characters more deep" (think Black Widow in Age of Ultron). But, for me, this was the story that was begging to be told. And trust me, Rey is going to spend some time coming to understand and love her own body throughout the rest of this fic. 
> 
> If you feel uncomfortable with the decisions being made here or if you'd like to discuss this more, please leave your thoughts in a comment down below or DM me on Twitter. Love you all, babes ❤❤❤
> 
> Also, get excited! Next chapter is HEAT SEX!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your response to the last chapter was so overwhelmingly positive, and it warmed my heart. Thank you to everyone who commented 💚💚💚 
> 
> As for this chapter, damn, I hope y'all are ready for some miscommunication...
> 
> (This chapter has my favorite line in the whole fic: bonus points if you can guess what it is)

She can’t stop staring at that little orange bottle of pills. She wonders incessantly how it will feel to crave him desperately.

Because how she could crave his touch more than she already does?

The air in her apartment in the week leading up to his heat is tense with anticipation.

She finds it difficult to look in his eyes. She finds it difficult to stop staring at him.

And when Friday morning comes, she wakes at eight o’clock, deliciously late with no work to push her up earlier. He’s organizing his overnight bag when she walks into the living room. She brushes the scent gland on her wrist against his arm as she walks past just to feel that spark jolt through her.

“Excited?” she asks him, waggling her eyebrows.

He shoots her a weird look. “It’s very possible I won’t remember a lot of this when it’s over.”

“Good. You won’t remember how bad I am at sex.” She shoots him a wink, turning her back to pour herself a cup of coffee.

“The sex will be fine.” His voice is husky enough that it sends a shiver up her spine.

She runs to the bathroom to grab the orange bottle, popping one of those pills and swallowing it dry. Better to give it time to kick in than to be stuck later.

Which turns out to be a monumentally awful idea.

Because twenty minutes later, as they bounce down the highway, every jolt is sending shivers up her spine. She’s nearly out of breath feeling her nipples harden beneath her tank top and an achy heat pooling between her legs.

His scent is overwhelming. The distinctive bergamot worms its way into her thoughts and won’t let go. She rolls the window down, desperate for fresh air.

“Are you okay?” And from the way his nostrils flare, she realizes that he knows exactly what’s happening.

She fidgets, trying to adjust herself so that her clit isn’t rubbing against the seam of her pants. “Yep. Super great. Feeling super normal.”

“You don’t smell normal.”

“Well, neither do you. How much farther until we’re there?” She doesn’t know how much more she can take.

“Like half an hour. We just got in the car.”

“Fuck.” She knocks her head back against the headrest.

She doesn’t really notice what’s happening until the car is swerving to the side of the road, and he’s putting it into park, setting the lights to hazard.

He turns to her. “I’ll help you if you want.”

What is he talking about? “Help me?” 

He doesn’t move to clarify, but he doesn’t have to. Her brain is already connecting the dots. “You... you don’t have to...” Yet even as the words stutter from her mouth, his fingers brush the hair from her forehead, skin against skin, electric, and there’s a fresh wave of arousal coursing through her.

“I want to. And regardless, I can’t concentrate with you like  _ this _ .” His voice breaks on the last word, and she swears it’s the sexiest thing she’s heard in her life. 

“Okay,” she says softly. She moves to unbutton her jeans. 

“I want to taste you,’ he says

Her hands still on her waistband.

“I need to. Please?” Her eyes focus on the intoxicating way his mouth moves when he talks. “Rey?”

“Yes.” She’s never heard her own voice this breathless. “I want that too.” 

He slides out of his door, it bangs loudly behind him, and he moves to her side of the car, the passenger door swinging wide. She’s desperately trying to scrunch her jeans from her sweaty skin. He motions her to turn to face him, hooks his fingers around the backs of her knees to drag her forward. 

The throbbing is so intense that, for once, she’s not conscious of her own nudity until she looks up at his face to see slack-jawed awe.

He wrenches her underwear off her legs, tossing them aside. And Ben drops, kneeling on the concrete on the side of the highway.

“What if someone sees you?” she whispers.

“Then this better be quick.” And before she can say anything else, he’s widening her legs, his breath hot on her thighs. 

And as sexy as he was before, this is better. Her Omega kneeling before her to sate her rut.

There’s a tense moment of anticipation where she wonders if she’s just going to combust before his tongue even grazes the edge of her outer lips. She clutches at the collar of her shirt, desperate for something to cling to. A bizarre mix of feelings floods her: both relief that he’s touching her and a ratcheting need for this to never end.

His tongue is gentle as it traces in soft circles, but it’s too light to sate her. “Ben,” she groans. “More. I need more.” He tilts his jaw a little, adjusting his angle as his lips curve around her clit. The jolt of pleasure is so unexpected that she cries out, fisting her hand in his hair. “Yes, like that. Just like that.”

She suspects that he’s never done this with a woman before: his lips are unfocused, his teeth scrape where they shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter. She can’t believe how quickly she feels her release coming. Her fingers grasp at the handle above her head, fumbling for something to keep her steady has her hips cant against his jaw.

There’s a clarity that comes with her orgasm, like she can see the world in color again. It drags the breath from her throat, and she nearly collapses out of the seat as he backs away. Her walls tighten, but unlike normal, they don’t release. “What...” she starts, the pads of her fingers dropping lower to feel the tight muscle.

“It’s your knot.”

She feels the tears slipping down her face before she can register why.

She never thought this could be possible. She thought this had been taken from her. 

She flinches when his hands brush her tears away. “We should keep moving. With your scent like this, my heat’s not far away either.”

* * *

His scent has gotten so much sharper in the thirty-five minutes it took them to finally reach his cabin. His pupils are blown wide and the glands at his throat are swollen.

All week, she’s had visions of the awkward, distressingly unsexy scenario of the moment they both realize that they have to take off their clothes and actually  _ touch _ each other. Long sustained eye contact. And then, worse, no eye contact at all. 

But really, in this reality- him maneuvering the car up his dirt drive, her desperately trying to grab all their bags, not wanting bears to find food in the car, the door clanging open, their lips colliding together on the other side of it- one moment bleeds into the next. No time for thought. No time to second guess herself.

His scent is heightened, and she wants, wants, wants so badly to sate him. His eyes are a little wild, his hair a little mussed, and she doesn't think she's ever seen a creature more perfect than Ben Solo.

There’s only him, feverish and desperate.

And her, a small soul full of longing.

Her skin feels like it’s been scorched in the summer sun. He claws at his own shirt, and for a moment, she thinks he might tear it in two, a thought that’s sexy enough that she feels a gush of slick drip down her leg. She’s tempted to reach over and do it herself, but before she can, he’s yanked it over his head.

“Fuck,” she gasps against his lips when he lifts her so that her legs can wind around his hips. Her core opens, parts for him, rubbing against the skin at his navel, leaving trails of her slick in a way that feels absolutely obscene. She can feel his abs flexing against her clit, prompting her to grind against him harder.

Through the haze of  _ good _ , she has to realize that, no, this is about him, about satisfying her Omega. About making sure that she knots around him.

“Yes,” he groans when her thumbs and then her tongue run over the glands on his neck.

She has no idea how they maneuver the stairs to the bedroom. Has no idea how she comes to be straddling him, murmuring in his ears small things like,  _ quiet _ and  _ relax _ .

And when he comes- she has no idea how she forgot about this part of a heat. The part where the connection between their minds opens up, and his pleasure runs with hers, and fuck, she’s coming too, knotting around his cock.

She braces herself on her arms so that she doesn’t knock the air out of him, but he pulls her in tighter, tangling his fingers in her hair.

She watches him through drooping eyelashes, focusing on his thoughts scattering through her head, garbled gibberish about how beautiful she is. 

The connection weans off as the spasms of her orgasm finally cease, her thoughts becoming wholly her own once again. Eventually, her knot too eases, and she realizes that he probably doesn’t want her like this, splayed over him indulging in her school-girl crush. She needs a second. To collect herself. To control her thoughts before the next round when he plucks her obsession with him out of her head.

“Where are you going?” he asks when she slips off the bed.

“Oh, I was just going to put the food in the fridge. You know, before...” Her eyes drop to his cock.

“I can help-”

“No, don’t worry about it.” And she leaves before he can say anything else.

* * *

Once. Only once.

Her hair tumbling over his shoulder.

His jaw slack and trembling, his back arched as he comes, the most beautiful creature she’s ever seen. 

She doesn’t know where it comes from.

If it originates in the recesses of her mind, drawn forth by excruciating pleasure as she comes too. 

Or if she hears it echoing from his thoughts.

_ I love you. _

Her hips stutter as it crashes over her. She forces her mind blank so that if it was her, he can’t hear anything else that her mind might spit out.

Her knot tightens around him, binding the two of them together as they collapse to land on their sides. She looks up at him, trying to discern if he heard those three words from her, or if she heard them from him. 

The bond between their minds dissolves as the haze of her orgasm leaves her. She presses her forehead against his chest, breathing in his scent.

There's a burning sensation in her chest, that teenage panic of discovering that your crush has noticed you. Her heart is racing, and she can feel the adrenaline dumping into her veins. She just had the best orgasm of her life, and here she is having a panic attack. Great.

“Are you,” she asks softly, finally, because she doesn’t want to know, can’t stand not knowing, “in love with me?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “It usually takes a while,” he says, his eyes boring into hers, “for me to fall in love. It doesn’t come easily. I needed time before I really started to feel.” 

She thinks the ache in her chest might be her heart shattering. As many times as she’s been rejected before, she never knew it could hurt this way.

She hates the hope gnawing into her, the possibility of  _ yet _ lingering in his answer.

He looks like he might say more, but she can’t look at him. Has to turn to bury her face in the pillow. When did she become too attached to him to let go? Her cunt clenches again, growing even tighter around his cock, mocking her inability to form a connection with anyone, let alone this man she's been paired with.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is muffled by the down feathers. “I never wanted for this...” She trails off.

“It’s okay. You shouldn’t feel guilty. It’s not like either of us can control who we love. Who we don’t. It’s ok if you... if you...” 

She turns to look at him. He looks so sad. She tries not to be furious at his pity. She knows she’s a pitiful thing. She doesn’t need him to remind her.

“You’re so-” he tries again. 

“It’s okay, Ben,” she interrupts. “I’ll leave though, when this is all over, if you don’t want me around-”

“I want you around,” he blurts. “Don’t leave because you think that’s what I want.”

“You’re right. It is a lot harder to be apart.”

She can’t lay there with his sad eyes tracing over her face. He has no reason to look as close to tears as he does. This is her tragedy. 

Her knot has loosened enough that she can slip off of him. She gets up, pulling a robe over her naked body. “I’m going to shower.”

He doesn’t answer.

* * *

His heat put her so far behind at work that even though it’s Saturday afternoon and the Wi-Fi is atrocious in his cabin, she's sprawled out on the floor of his living room, two laptops and a whole host of papers spread around her. 

She’s gnawing on a Twizzler rope staring intently at her screen when she catches his scent coming through the back door into the kitchen. He’d been in the woods all morning doing who knows what, but she was grateful to be able to concentrate. 

But really, she thinks he's been avoiding her. She's barely talked to him in days, and while that's not  _ unusual  _ per say, it is uncomfortable. The touching between is perfunctory, no more than it has to be. 

Him sending her the clearest message that he's not interested, and she needs to back off.

And she tries to stay out of his space. It's easier in the few days after his heat to not touch him all the time. Her body doesn't  _ crave  _ his so much after three days of sex. 

But sometimes she wants nothing more than to tuck his hair behind his ears and kiss the corner of his mouth. She wants to soothe out those worry lines from his forehead until he opens up and tells her what caused them in the first place.

So yeah, him spending the entire morning romping around in the woods without her is coughing up some... feelings.

Except now...

His scent, laden with rain and sweat, invades the room. 

She peels her tongue off the roof of her mouth, unclenches her jaw. She hears his footsteps nearing to go up the stairs behind her. She stares pointedly at her screen, knowing with her luck, if she looked up, she’d see him wiping at his sweat with the hem of his shirt, and she’d get a great glimpse of his abs, and while that would be nice, she has fucking work to do.

She also isn’t supposed to want him like this.

She hears a door slam, the hiss of water against the glass wall of the shower. Which is great. Because now she’s picturing him naked, which, of course, she can picture very well after having slept with him.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard, unable to get the code out. Her heartbeat thrums pushing blood, it feels, directly to her-

She knows she shouldn’t, but she imagines him kneeling in front of her, her fingers tracing those scars on his spine, the marks that  _ she _ made. Her body sparks at the thought of going further, of pulling his head between her thighs and not moving for hours. 

She flinches when she hears his footsteps coming down the stairs, knowing that he must be able to smell the evidence of her thoughts. 

Before he can say anything, she throws on her headphones and stuffs another Twizzler in her mouth.

The music in her ears bangs so loudly that she doesn’t notice that he’s even walked over to her until he’s crouching before her, his pecs in her face, gently pulling an earbud from her ear. 

“What?” she says flatly.

“In about ten minutes, there’s going to be an eclipse. I thought you might like to see it.”

“Oh.” How had she not heard about this? Has she been so disconnected from the world that it completely bypassed her? “Yeah, I’ll take a look.”

They walk outside. By some miracle, there are no clouds to be seen, only the trees on the outskirts of his clearing mar the horizon.

He hands her his dorky shoe-box viewer, and when she looks through, she can barely make out the dark circle of the moon creating a crescent of the sun. It’s bright and shining, and it makes her feel like she’s holding the universe in her hands. She hands him the box so he can look through it.

“Fascinating, the way they align and have no knowledge of it,” he murmurs. “It’s arbitrary, but it happens perfectly.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one, but it packs a heavy punch...

_ Don’t come back to my place tonight.  _

She eating lunch (at her desk, dry ham on white bread and some baby carrots she pulled out of the back of her fridge) when the text chimes on her phone, and she has no idea what to make of it.

_ Why?  _ she texts back.

_ Snoke _ , is his response, and she wants to throw her phone across the room. She settles for squeezing it so hard her knuckles turn white.

_ No. I’m coming. I don’t want you tied to him any longer. We’re ending this. You’re giving up on him. _

She doesn’t get a response after that, and so she gets in her car. Beelines to his apartment. There are two cars in the driveway when she gets there, and she is tempted to key the one that isn’t Ben’s.

Hell, maybe she should key Ben’s too.

She’s so furious, and perhaps she should be paying more attention to the nuances of the scents as she marches up the porch. Ben’s though, she can smell him, and, despite everything, it’s calming to know that he’s here. 

He opens the door before she can knock. “Rey, I told you-”

“Don’t you dare cave to him,” she hisses.

A shadowed look crosses his face, and she realizes she may already be too late.

“Whatever, Ben, let’s go talk to him.” He sighs and leads her through the house and out the back door. Snoke sits in the large armchair under the tree that she’s seen Ben use for reading.

“You finally brought her here,” Snoke says. “As I have asked you to.”

Rey is trembling. She can’t think about how bizarre this is or she’ll start screaming.

“He’s told me, you know, about your failures as an Alpha. What use are you to me if you cannot have children? All you are doing is indulging this Omega, suggesting to him that he is equal with an Alpha. And you know, perhaps you’re right. A useless Alpha is worth the same as an Omega: nothing.”

“If Ben were worth nothing, then why would you be here?”

“I care about my properties. I’ve invested a lot of time and effort into him. I’ve built him into what he is. He would be nothing without me.”

Rey grabs Ben's hand, needing stability, needing grounding, but he shakes her off of him. She looks up toward his dark eyes as he steps away from her. “You know that isn’t true, right?

“You pitiful girl,” Snoke says. “You’re nothing. So, I can either turn you into the police, I’m sure they’d love to hear all about what you’ve done, or we can get this over with now. Quickly.”

He’s right. She is nothing. Her body is useless. She can’t be pregnant, she can’t even rut without meds.

“Kylo Ren, I think you have one bullet left in your revolver, if I’m not mistaken. Use it.”

She watches in horror as Ben finds the hunk of metal strapped to his belt. She knows she hunts with it. She just never thought she would be the prey. For all of the animalistic behaviors that are supposed to come with their designations, she has never really considered the drive to kill.

“End this,” Snoke says. “And we will find you a mate worth something.”

Ben is staring at her, and she has to look away. She’s frozen; she has nowhere to go even if she could summon the courage to move her legs. Ben’s the one who knows these forests, and he’d be able to track her down by scent alone. “Please,” she whispers.

“You think he has any loyalty toward you? I saved him from becoming nothing. Shoot her!”

And then Ben raises the pistol, and it’s only pointed at her for a second until he swings his arm back and the shot rings out. The tree behind Snoke shudders violently, and Rey can see the metallic glint of the bullet glimmering in the bark.

But Snoke has shouted, collapsed out of the chair and onto the ground, his hand clutching his heart, his breath coming raggedly. 

Her ears are ringing, and she doesn't really understand what's happening, only that, impossibly she's still alive.

And with one last choked sob, Snoke falls face-first to the dirt.

“Holy fuck,” she whispers when it’s obvious that Snoke isn’t going to move again, isn’t going to  _ live _ again. “Holy shit.”

She looks over to Ben who drops the gun from his hand. Listens to it clatter on the rocks at his feet. 

“You killed him,” she says shakily.

Ben shakes his head furiously. “I didn’t shoot him. I shot the tree. He must have had a heart attack or something.”

“What are we going to do?” Because now there’s a body, and she has no idea what to do with a body.

“We call the police. We didn’t kill him. He just had a heart attack.”

“Ben, we can’t call the police. What if they start investigating into this? What if they find out?”

“Rey, there’s no one around. No one probably even heard the gunshot, and if they did, it is hunting season, so they probably didn’t even think much of it.”

“Ben, we can’t call the police.” 

“We have to, Rey." And he’s already dialing those three numbers.

The ambulance comes, and then the police. And it takes everything in Rey’s power not to look guilty. They take the body away when it’s clear he’ll need an autopsy. In five days, the official ruling will come out that he had blockage in his arteries, and it was just a fatal heart attack spurred by shock.

She stares at him after they’ve all left, and she’s fucking furious. “You told him!” she shouts. “This happened because you fucking told Snoke about all the problems with my body, even though you were the one who said that it wouldn’t be good if he found out!”

“I fucking had to! There was no way around it! And you know what, he’s gone now. I’m free of him. Do you have any idea what a fucking relief that is?”

Rey stares at him, mouth agape. “You have put my entire life in danger! You don’t know who he told. There could be FBI after me now.”

“There aren’t. He didn’t tell anyone.”

She gives a sharp half-laugh. “No Ben. I’m done. I can’t keep living in fear like this. Just now, with all those Alpha officers- It was terrifying.”

Ben doesn’t speak for a long moment, and when he does, his voice is soft.“We don’t  _ have _ to live like this,” he says. “Always in fear of the government, always on the run. Come with me. We can go, disappear from here. They won’t find you.”

The words tumble out, and from the expression on his face, she imagines that he wants to swallow them all back up. That they were a mistake.

And then he says the thing that breaks her heart.

“You’re nothing, Rey,” he says. “But not to me.”

Because he’s right. 

She can see it play out before her eyes. 

She would forgive him. It would take time, but she would cave to his delightful cooking and soft touches. And then, she would fall for him so much harder than she already has. She’d quit her career, abandon her friends, devote herself entirely to him.

She would lose herself. He'd be everything to her.

And at the end of it, she’d be no better than Snoke: she’d ask for everything from him, would ask him to feel things he’s told her he doesn’t feel. He’d be just as trapped as he was before.

And so the breathy, “No,” escapes her lips before she can second guess herself. And she watches his face contort to mask his emotions, but she can imagine the relief that he must feel. “No, I don’t think us running away is a good idea. In fact, I think we should stop living together.”

And he’s already nodding, already agreeing, but she feels the need to keep talking, to explain why she, his mate who’s already stupidly confessed her love to him, would want to back out now.

"I just think," she starts, "after that whole heat thing, and all of what happened here today, it’s just making things between us really..." She trails off, unable to escape the way his eyes are trained on her. "I just think, we both have our own lives, and I really don't mean for you to feel stuck. I don't care about what the law says about me 'owning you' or whatever. I know that's not what you want. And realistically, we can’t be together all the time; we're going to have to figure out a way to be apart, anyhow."

"Right," he says slowly. "And, how do you propose we do this, realistically? Without one of us passing out?"

But Rey is already pulling her coat on zipping it up. “I don’t know. We’ll figure that out later, Ben. I just can’t do this with you anymore.” 

And then she slams the door.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops! It's been a few weeks, but I'm back!

It’s hell.

To live without him.

She’s in nearly constant pain, her head throbbing, her muscles aching

But she can ignore this if she dives into work hard enough.

But work is hell too.

And yet, she knows she and Ben have to do this. They have to find a way to be apart.

She hopes with everything she has that he doesn’t feel pain this way too, even if, deep down, she knows he does.

She hadn’t even realized how connected their lives had become until she opens the fridge, and realizes she hasn’t cooked herself a meal in weeks. It had been meal upon meal of his decadent food. She nearly cries when she opens the freezer, when she sees that he left her boxes and boxes of Tupperware.

She takes a deep breath and calls Rose. 

“Hey, kiddo. Haven’t heard from you in a while!” And it’s so true that Rey feels her stomach sink. She never wanted this. Never wanted for this man to come between her and best friend.

“Will you come over?” she asks.

“Of course.”

They don’t talk about Ben. They laugh, and they play cards, and they lament over politics, and they eat his food.

And Rey tells her, finally, what she should have told her best friend ages ago. “I love you, Rose Tico. Thank you for being my friend.”

“Fuck, Rey, I love you too.”

“Rose,” Rey says. 

“Yeah?”

And then Rey spills out her whole story for a second time, and it easier somehow to talk about the torture, the abuse, the surgery, all of it.

“Rey?” Rose says when she’s finished and they’re both swiping at tears.

“Yeah?”

“Fucking hell, hon, I love you. And you, you are worth so much. You are so much more than whether or not you can have kids.”

“Oh Rose,” Rey says. “But it does matter. The government-”

“But they don’t determine your  _ worth _ . They can’t dictate how you see yourself.”

Rey brushes more of the tears off her face, and she curls up next to her best friend.

* * *

It starts with her missing a deadline that she should not have missed. Her code was due, and it had completely slipped her mind.

But a lot of things had been slipping her mind of late.

She had forgotten to pay her rent.

Missed movie night with Rose and her sister Paige.

But this deadline was huge. Her boss screams at her for nearly an hour. She hears almost none of it. The pain in her body is taking up so much space.

She works late that night, desperately trying to make up all the work she missed. 

She shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel. Not with how tired she was and with the way the pain had started to blur her vision.

But she told herself she could do it. That she just had to make it home.

But it’s raining, and the roads are slippery, and she has the attention span of a sloth, and the second she hits seventy miles an hour on the highway, she hydroplanes and spins out into a ditch. Her head whirls, her shoulder knocking hard into the steering wheel. She slams on the brakes and skids to a stop.

She lets her head collapse on the wheel wondering if it would have been easier for everyone if she had hit the tree five feet to her right. 

Thankfully, hers was the only car impacted by her inability to function like a normal person, and even then, she’s pretty sure it will drive fine.

Which is good. No need for police or insurance agencies digging around into her business.

She takes a deep breath, and drives the five miles home.

* * *

That night, finally, on her living room couch, donned in a tank top, sleep shorts and after one too many glasses of wine, she does what she promised him ages ago that she wouldn’t do.

She drunk texts him.

_ You up? _

It’s probably only twenty seconds before she gets the notification.  _ Yes _

And then, impossibly, he’s in the lobby of her apartment, she’s buzzing him up and wondering why she never gave him a key.

It takes everything in her power not to touch him the second he comes through the door. 

“You’re four glasses behind,” she says, thrusting the wine bottle at him.

It’s then that she looks up at him, and sees just how ragged he looks. The dark circles under his eyes, the rumpled clothing. He takes a swig from the bottle. “Three behind now.”

She grunts. 

“Why am I here, Rey?”

Shouldn’t that be obvious? “I still haven’t forgiven you,” she says.

He pours himself the second glass. Sits down next to her, and holy fuck their knees are touching and her brain cannot process anything that isn’t the milimeters of fabic separating their skin. “But, let me guess, this isn’t working?” He scoffs, rolls his eyes. “Rey, we’ve done this before. We know this doesn’t work. The only way to get through this was living together.”

She looks at her toes. Takes a deep breath. "I mean, sex was effective."

When he doesn’t answer right away, she looks up at him. His mouth is parted enough that she can see his teeth. "You would want to try that again?” His voice is a little horse, and she wants to wrap herself in the texture of it. “I thought-"

"I don’t want to pressure you into it," she blurts. 

He laughs. "Trust me. There wouldn't be any coercion there."

She lets out a wry smile. "Yeah, the sex was pretty good."

He looks at her. “So, you really want to try it again?”

“Yes,” and she’s never been more sure about anything in her life. She is so sure that she finally and for once feels no hesitation in running her fingers over the prickly stubble on his jawbone, her thumb softly caressing the divet in his lip. The melting relief of her pain gives way into a confidence she didn’t know she possessed. His mouth parts, and his tongue licks her finger, and she can’t help but let out a giggle that he captures with his mouth.

Kissing him feel like the floor has been dropped from under her. It’s not just the relief of touching him: it’s the all-consuming need to _ know _ him. She grips the nape of his neck, her fingers dipping below his collar until she feels the raised mating gland on his back, and he shudders into her mouth.

“Fuck, Rey,” he murmurs, his hand skidding down her other arm finding the mating mark on her wrist. It sends an electric jolt through her that seems to be connected directly to her clit. She pulls him in closer, craving his skin against hers.

His fingers try to draw the straps of her camisole down, but she grips his wrist to stop him: he’d unveil the scars spanning her abdomen. He’s seen them, she knows, but the last time was during his heat, when they were both far too checked out to register anything beyond pleasure.

"Leave it," she says gruffly, pushing his jeans down to distract him. His cock springs free, and she has to ball her hands a little not to touch it, not to end this before it’s even started. “We should move this to the bedroom.”

He doesn’t even respond to that. Just scoops her into his arms and carries her across the threshold of her room.

There’s something unspoken between them, an understanding that this is not going to be like having sex during heat. That he doesn’t really like being dominated, and that she doesn’t really want to look at him as they do this. He takes her from behind, his cock hitting places inside her she didn’t know existed. Her knuckles white out from how hard she’s gripping the sheets.

She’s glad he’s not in a position to look at her face, glad she can take a moment to feel everything for him before pretending for his sake that she doesn’t. 

She reminds herself that it’s perfunctory, it’s sex to get the job done. That he presses a reverent kiss on her shoulder as she comes because she happens to be the one body who his needs to fuck. 

He pulls her close when it’s over, both of them exhausted in the aftermath of mind-bending orgasms, and she tells herself that this intimacy is only physical, only necessary.

That this is the way that it has to be.

* * *

They decide to spend three days apart to start out their arrangement. 

It’s long enough that the migraines start to return, but not so long that either of them stops being able to function.

“We should experiment,” Rey suggests. “See how long we go without each other. We should know our limits. Maybe we can build up a tolerance.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he says. “My next book is going to be released soon, and they’re going to make me go on tour. It’d be... nice... to not have to worry about...”

He trails off, but she knows what he means. She can’t go with him, can’t abandon her work even if she’d like to, not with how busy things have been. And so there will inevitably have to be a myriad of coordinating flights and back-alley fucks, and the thought of it just makes her tired.

“Yeah, yeah that’s good,” she says. She can’t keep sitting here watching him. She goes into the kitchen, bangs around in her kitchen looking for something, a snack? Finds some saltines and dumps them in a bowl.

She sets the bowl on the coffee table in front of him. He’s staring at his feet, and as much as she hates to admit that she’s studied him enough to know his moods, his expressions, she thinks there’s something he wants to say.

“Ben, what is it?”

He bites the corner of his lip. “I...”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck.”

She crunches into a saltine, that noise disturbing the silence that he won’t fill. “Ben-”

“I need your help.”

She startles, looking up at him from where she was grabbing another saltine. “Are you okay?”

“They just read out Snoke’s will. I... he didn’t leave me the house.” 

There’s a flicker of horror that goes through her: is he asking to live with her? Because she knows she is not strong enough to live with him without succumbing- “What?” she asks.

“The house. He didn’t leave me the house. He didn’t leave anyone the house. It’s going up for sale, and I have the money, but I can’t sign for it. I’m not...” He plucks a saltine from the bowl, biting into it before wrinkling his nose. “I can’t believe you can eat this cardboard shit,” he says with a soft smile.

“An Alpha,” she finishes for him. “Yeah,” and there’s a flush of relief? Or is that disappointment coursing through her? “Of course,” she says. “Of course I’ll sign for you. Tell me where to be. I’ll bring the pen.”

It’s hard to watch him go. To watch him carefully pack all his things from her home. She flinches when he shuts the door to leave.

* * *

“Is it even worth saying anymore that you two are idiots?” Hux asks her over a cup of coffee. 

She shoots him a dry look. “I didn’t take time off work to meet you for coffee just to get lectured.”

Hux purses his lips. “Well, at least you two are fucking now. That’s something. Has he at least gotten better at sex? Ben was wrapped up in his own brain when I was fucking him-”

A mother pushing a stroller glares at Hux. “I’m not talking about this with you,” Rey says. 

“That bad?  _ Yeesh _ . Do you want me to give him pointers?”

“The sex is fine.” 

Hux scoffs. “Honey, it should be a lot better than fine.”

“Hmm, fascinating. Heard you were really into choking,” she says stirring the sugar in the bottom of her cup into the last dredges of her coffee before looking up at him.

“Oh, he told you that, did he?” Hux says with a smirk. “Did he fail to mention that he liked it too? ” 

“Hux,” she says, pumping as much faux-cheeriness into ver voice as she can muster, deeply regretting trying to out-embarrass him. “How’s Phasma?”

“I see you trying to change the subject. She’s fine. I mean, people at work are shitty, but what’s new?”

“Shitty?”

Hux raises his eyebrows. “About her designation. She’s in patent law. It’s not exactly Omega or female-dominated.”

Rey sighs. “What’s new, I suppose?”

“Have you gone to see that therapist?” he asks with a smirk.

It’s a miracle she doesn’t splash the dregs of her coffee in his face.

It’s a miracle she’s found a friend like him.


	10. Chapter 10

Once, and only once, does she attempt to quench the pain running through her on her own. 

It’s an utter failure.

She’s a little drunk, the tequila shots she did floating heavily on awareness. Her hand flits against her clit, and the shower pounds on her back, drawing sharp jolts of pleasure with every twirl of her fingers. Her teeth bite her lower lip hard enough that she won’t whimper.

Her release pulses through her with enough force that she has to steady herself against the shower wall.

But it’s not enough, and even as the discount body gel carries off the scent of her slick, she feels the throb of missing him.

So she lies, texts him.  _ Something came up tomorrow. Come over today instead? _

_ Yes. _

“Thanks for being so accommodating,” she says when she opens the door for him.

He nods slowly, his eyes growing dark, not breaking contact with hers. His scent carries something that sparks a fire in her belly.

She pulls down the straps of her tank top, exposing the freckled skin of her shoulders, the curve of her breastbone, the puckered nipples of her tits.

She waits until he comes to her, letting him be the one to conquer the distance between them. He kisses her with a fierce pull of his lips. She tangles her fingers in his hair, and when he groans, his lips parting for her tongue, she realizes she’ll do anything to make him make that noise again. 

His lips around her nipple send heady ripples through her. She lets out a breathy gasp. “More,” she says. “So much more.”

The angle isn’t right, and so she pushes him back, maneuvering him so he collapses into the couch cushions, and for once, she doesn’t care about fucking him face-to-face. His fingers trail into her pants, deftly caressing her lower lips. “Shit, Rey” he murmurs, a little in awe. “How are you so wet?”

“I warmed up in the shower before you got here. Don’t flatter yourself too hard.” She knows he can smell the evidence of what she’d done.

“Yeah? And what were you thinking about while you were in there?” He punctuates his words with a finger thrust  _ so deep  _ inside her. It’s hard to talk, hard to think with him stroking at her like this. Her eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me, Rey. What were you thinking about?”

Her brain is still foggy from the alcohol, and his fingers are doing something incredible around her clit that has her toes curling. She doesn’t think she can form words.

He pulls back, removes his hand despite her whimpering protests. “Focus, Rey. Tell me.”   


She’s keyed up, high on arousal, and he’s being a fucking tease, so she decides to play along a little. She bats her eyes softly. “Do you want to hear that I was thinking about you, Omega? Do you want to know that I can’t stop thinking about how your massive cock felt locked inside of me?” 

His eyes widen a little as if he hadn’t actually expected this, as if he hadn’t realized that she would give him anything he asked for.

Her lips press softly to his ear, her teeth softly pulling at the lobe. “Do you want to hear that the only way I could make myself come was by scenting your washcloth, picturing how you ate me out.” His eyes have fallen back to her breasts, and she cups his chin in her hand to force his eyes back up to hers as she grinds down on his cock. “Is that what you want to hear, Ben? Focus.”

The glazed look snaps out of his eyes. His lips quirk up in a mischievous half-smile. “Yes, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

And then he thrusts up into her.

* * *

She had decided to take a run on her lunch break, feeling caged in by those three cubicle walls. The sun is hot on her neck as she jogs down the river walk. Hoping that she can work out some of her oppressive thoughts, she pushes herself as hard as she can, cranking up the volume on her podcast so that she can't concentrate on anything else-

The chimes of an incoming call cut off the rest. She doesn't want to stop for some scammer, so she answers, intending to hang up the second the automated voice starts, but her gasping, "Hello?" is met with a quiet-

"Hi."

Her legs stutter to a stop. There's a guy in his fifties that looks like a serious runner who passes her, glaring at her for causing him to run around her.

"Hi," she says back, softer this time. "Is everything... are you...?"

"I just- I heard there was an attack on the north side of the city. French terrorists targeting Alphas and Omegas, and I know that's not where your building is but-"

"I'm ok." And then. "You knew I wasn't dead. You would have felt something.” And maybe that was a mean thing to say; she's out of breath, so it probably came out huffed and exasperated. Like she didn't want to talk to him. Like she's irritated he called.

"Ben?" she says after a long moment.

"I just wanted to hear your voice."

It's so raw and vulnerable that she nearly bursts into tears right there on the street. She's always doing this. Hurting him when she doesn't mean to.

She chews on the inside of her cheek. "I could come over tonight. Only if you want. I know it's only been three days since I last saw you, and we were going to try for five-"

"No. Come over." 

“Are you sure?” she asks, hesitant.

“Yeah. It’s fine.”

“Okay,” she says softly. “I’ll see you then.”

“Goodbye, Rey.” 

She walks back to work in a bit of a daze. There's chatter in the breakroom, speculation about who and how and why someone would attack this city. About whether those Omegas were asking for something like this with the way that they’ve been acting. She is trembling, and then-

“What the fuck kind of bullshit are you even saying? They are fucking victims! Who the fuck cares if they’ve been protesting this new law? Maybe they’re right! Maybe it is unconstitutional!”

And then her coworkers are staring at her, mouths agape, her boss walking into the breakroom, intending to settle the commotion, but Rey is already pushing out of the room, powering up her programming language, and snapping her headphones over her ears.

She mindlessly codes her way to 5:00. They stare at her again as she walks out, but she intentionally does not look at them.

He’s weeding the front garden when she makes it to his place that night, his pale, naked torso shimmering with sweat in the dying sunlight.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against her lips when she approaches, bending down to kiss him. “You smell incredible.” He’s still on his knees, and she's tilting his chin up to meet hers. Her fingers skid down his neck, trailing over his glands until he groans and she can feel the vibrations in her palms. His hands grip the backs of her thighs, inching under her skirt until she squirms a little.

He does not ask why she seems to be desperate to get him in her pants. Hell, he seems just as eager, bunching up the fabric of her skirt, pulling her underwear down, her cunt exposed to the outside air only for a moment before his mouth, so warm, so good, toys with her clit.

It’s so easy for him to tip her over the edge that she falls once, twice, (thrice?) before she can muster the will to push him away, dragging him up and into the house.

It’s amazing they make it to the bedroom. 

Hours later, he’s making dinner and she’s checking emails, including one from her boss asking her to see him in his office early tomorrow morning, no doubt to discuss her outburst, and she’s about two seconds away from crying, and Ben must be able to scent it because all of the sudden he’s staring at her.

She takes a deep breath. “A few months ago, Hux gave me the name of a therapist that he thought I should talk to. And I haven’t done it. Maybe it’s just the idea of admitting that I have a problem and that it’s a problem I can fix on my own. But I’m so scared, Ben. I’m scared of telling someone about this. What if the government kills me to mate you off to someone else-”

“You should do it,” he says. “If you think it will help you.”

She worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “Really?”

“He recommended you Maz, right? She’s one of my mother’s friends. She won’t give up your secret.” Ben sets a plate of food in front of her. “Eat. Please. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

* * *

She fidgets with her fingers, staring up at that non-descript doctor’s office.

Checks in with the receptionist with a shaky voice. Can barely remember her date of birth.

Sits in the waiting room, her knee bouncing until they call her name.

“Are you nervous, Rey?” the petite Maz asks her. “This is your space.”

She’s surprised that it all tumbles out of her mouth: her lonely childhood, her time with Unkar Plutt, the surgery she never asked for, how she waited for parents who never came back, how she eventually had no choice but to escape to America.

And when Rey mentions her infertility, Maz says to her, “You seem ashamed about your body.”

Something inside Rey clenches tight, and she has to force herself to take a deep breath before she responds.

It’s not words that come out, but tears.

* * *

It’s Friday afternoon, and she’s about to hurl a brick at her boss for piling more work on her desk when she gets a text from Ben:  _ Are you taking Monday and Tuesday off? You don’t have to _

Her hands tremble as she texts him back.  _ I wasn’t planning on it, but I can. Why? _

It takes him a while to respond, and she debates running to her boss and quitting on the spot and spending forever with him-

_ Heat starts Sunday _

There’s an  _ oh fuck _ moment, and then the deep shame of an Alpha who’s forgotten to care for her mate. She should have been counting the weeks, but in her conscious effort to pointedly not care about anything regarding him, she chose to forget.

_ Of course, see you then _

She’s a wreck Saturday, incessantly cleaning her house until the floors shine and the sills are dust-free. She’s so stressed that she barely eats. There’s so much adrenaline rushing through her that she goes for an eight-mile run and still feels jittery. She throws up the little water she’s drunk, and for once it’s not due to withdrawal from Ben.

She wishes she could call Maz for an emergency therapy session, but Maz doesn’t come in on Saturdays, and she doesn’t want to go to a new person. 

She doesn’t sleep at all that night. Lies on her back, instead, staring at the rotating blades of her ceiling fan.

She stares at her phone long enough until she works up enough resolve to push the call button.

“Hello?” says the groggy voice.

“Rose? You awake?”

“For you? Always.”

“What if I screw this up?”

“Honey, is this about your heat thing with Ben again? I told you that boy’s obsessed with you. You could literally stab him and he wouldn’t give up on you.”

“Rose, he has point-blank told me that he just doesn’t fall in love. I mean, he hasn’t specifically said aromantic, but I’m assuming he’s at least demi-”

“Has he said to your face that he’s not in love with you?”

“Rose-”

“Have the words ‘Rey, I am not in love with you’ come out of his mouth?” 

Rey groans. “You know he’s not like that.”

Rose sighs. “Rey, you know what I think of him, but I’m not going to tell you what to do. I just want you to be happy. Rey, you are so much more than your body. Now, do you want me to come over with wine and  _ Downton Abbey _ ?”

“No. I need to sleep before tomorrow.”

“Good luck, kiddo. You’re going to need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Therapy is good guys, go if you can 😘


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi babes! I know, it's been a rough couple of weeks, so have some angst resolution and porn 😘

Rey drives the now-familiar route to Ben’s house no more calm than the night before. She drank more coffee than she should have, and it’s only increased the spastic energy from last night. Except the traffic is terrible, nearly at a standstill, so her energy is going into excessive knee bouncing and thoughts spinning wildly out of control.

What if she’s too late and his heat has already started?

Or it’s possible that she forgot her rut pills at home, and this whole thing will be an effort in futility.

Or what if-

Her car dashboard starts ringing at her, and she realizes it’s her phone hooked up to the Bluetooth. Ben's name pops up, and she scrambles so quickly to answer it that she lets her foot off the brake a little.

“Fuck, hello!” she squeaks out, slamming her foot back on the brake, barely avoiding a crash collision with the silver minivan in front of her. 

“Rey?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Everything’s great. Only almost died. I’m so sorry I’m not there yet, Ben. There must be a major accident up there or something. How are you holding up? Humping the couch yet?”

He clears his throat, and she gets the impression that it’s to cover up a laugh. “Ah, no, actually. Feeling a little warm, but I should be able to hold on for a little while longer.”

Rey pauses. “Do you want me to help you rub one out?”

“Do you have to phrase it that way?”

“Would you rather I said beat the meat? Regardless, it’s a terrible idea. Our minds will connect, I won’t be able to see, I’ll swerve off the road, and then we’ll both be screwed-”

“Rey,” he interrupts.

“Fuck,” she says. “They’re not moving. I should have just come over last night.” He doesn’t say anything, and (as usual) she panics. “Ben, wait, no. I didn’t mean that- I’ll be there if I have to weave around all these cars and run over squirrels.”

“You would have come over last night?”

The car in front of her starts moving a little, and she tries to bring her focus back to the road a little. “Uh, yeah, but I didn’t think you wanted me to.” She merges into the other lane, thinking it might be going a little bit faster than the one she’s in.

“Rey, why wouldn’t I want you here?”

“Oh, you know, you'd get sick of me after a while.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

Rey has to slam on the brakes as the traffic in front of her halts. She laughs cautiously at his words. “I mean I just assumed, because, you know-”

“No, I don’t know.” And his voice is a little bit earnest, like he really doesn’t understand.

Which makes her angry because what the hell doesn’t he understand? “Ben, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. It’s easier for you, right, if I’m not there?”

“Feel uncomfortable? Rey, you being here doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

And she can’t hold it in any longer. He’s being so fucking dense. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s gotten no sleep, and she’s hyped up on caffeine. Or maybe it’s the stress of pretending she doesn’t feel this way, but this whole thing is making her angry. “What the fuck, Ben? I told you ages ago that I loved you, and you told me you didn’t feel the same way! So, yeah, I’ve really been trying to keep this lowkey and to not make a big deal out of it. I’m sorry if I haven’t been very good at it.”

The line on the other end is so quiet that she thinks he’s hung up on her. And she’s just about to click the button to hang up on her end when he says, “When did you tell me this?”

Her mouth goes very dry. “You don’t remember? It was right after your last heat. I asked you if you loved me, and you said you don't fall in love.”

“I never said that.”

This gaslighting asshole- “You can’t be fucking serious!”

“I said I loved you, but that this was new for me. That I hadn’t felt this way before.”

Rey feels paralyzed. “Ben, are you fucking with me? Stop fucking with me.”

“I’m not. I-”

The car behind her honks loudly because the traffic in front of her has started to move, and she’s still frozen. “What? I didn’t hear the end of that.”

“I said I love you.”

Her brain isn’t processing the words, and the people behind her are going to rear-end her if she doesn’t move. “Say that again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

There are tears coming down her cheeks. “Again.”

“I love you.” And this time, she hears the smile in his voice. 

“Fuck,” she says. “I love you, too. And this stupid traffic- Fuck, I just want to see you.”

“I could always ‘beat the meat’, as you put it. Connect our minds.”

“Gross,” she laughs.

“It’s okay, just get here when you can.”

* * *

A trip that should have taken her no more than forty minutes ends up taking her almost an hour and a half. She stumbles out of the car and through the back door, slamming it harshly behind her. 

He must have scented her when she pulled into the driveway because the next thing she knows is that she’s being boxed in aging the backdoor with his broad, naked chest, his lips on the glands of her throat. Her hand snakes into his hair tugging him closer. His thigh comes between hers, and he hoists one of her legs up so it curls around his hip. 

“Wait, wait!” she gasps as his tongue scorches the gland on her neck again. “Drugs, I need the drugs. I can’t rut-” But he’s kissing her again, and, oh fuck, she loses her train of thought. 

She feels herself roll into him, the seam of her pants scraping against his jeans. His cock bulges against the fabric, and she drags her fingers down to pop the button. His hands are fire on her hips, burning through her leggings, and she wishes he’d just do it, tear them in two. 

It’s not until he tucks his fingers beneath the elastic and brushes against her with his calloused fingers and she can hear the squelch of her juices that she’s convinced this has to stop. That she will drag him into this cesspool of want with her, and when the time comes, she won’t be able to knot around him.

“Ben-” she hisses, but it sounds more like a groan than a plea to stop. “Holy fuck. Holy fucking hell, we gotta-” And then his lips are against her neck, and she is rocking against his fingers harder,  _ harder _ . She doesn’t expect to come the way that she does- a wave that starts at the crown of her head and flows straight through her to her toes.

She’s clutching at his shoulders for balance. “I was supposed to do that for you,” she says into the space between his throat and his shoulder, her tongue flicking the gland under his ear.

“Who says you still can’t?” His fingers are tracing down her spine in the most gentle movement imaginable.

“If you let me go, I can take those drugs, and we can really get this thing started.” She pecks a kiss to his nose. “Please?”

“I’ve never known Alphas to beg.”

“And I’ve never known Omegas to be so mouthy.”

“I’ll show you mouthy,” he says with a grin, and then it’s his lips on the glands of her throat, and she’s trying to remember what it feels like to breathe.

He yelps when she pinches his ass, startled enough that she’s able to wriggle out of his arms and dart into her bag. 

She’s cursing at the stupid child safety lock on the bottle, first not budging and then flying off, a couple of the pills jumping out and scattering around her. She hurriedly tries to collect them all with shaking hands. Why the fuck is she so nervous?

And when she looks up, he’s standing there holding out a glass of water to her. The glass is cool against her fingers. The water glides down her throat. She runs a hand over her face. “I’m sorry. It’s going to be another half-an-hour before these stupid drugs kick in.” He nods, but she watches as his face screws up, and she feels the stab of guilt deep in her chest. “I’m sorry; I should have been more prepared.”

He holds out a hand to help her to her feet. “We have time for an episode of  _ Antiques Roadshow _ . I can hold out,” he says with a smirk.

“Ben, that show is fucking boring. There’s no way you’re going to be able to focus on it sitting next to this hot bod,” she says, gesturing at her own body.

He kisses the space between her jaw and her throat, and her skin  _ burns. _ “Yeah? You want to bet on that?”

She raises her eyebrows. “What are you wagering?” 

“It’s a secret,” he says, and she narrows her eyes a little at him, but he’s tangling his fingers with hers and leading her into the living room.

* * *

“Ben, they’re literally looking at a box. It’s just a wooden box.” 

“A box that Woodrow Wilson might have touched.”

“Wasn’t that guy a raging racist?” She collapses back into the impossibly soft cushions of his couch. “Ben, this is so fucking boring that I can feel my libido lowering!”

He reaches for her hand in her lap, and she thinks he’s going to wind their fingers together, (which would be fucking adorable), but he instead curls his fingers around her wrist, his thumb tracing a circle around her mating gland. And perhaps he’s been this bold before, but never this casual in taking what he wants. She shivers a little at the contact, and fuck, are those the drugs kicking in? She lets herself take a peek and his gloriously bare chest, but he notices, grinning at her wickedly.

His breath is hot in her ear as he leans over to murmur, “You don’t smell like your libido’s lowering.” His teeth catch on her earlobe as he pulls away, and she clenches her teeth to keep from whimpering. 

“If you keep talking like that, you’re going to lose the bet.” His lips are trailing down her neck now, touching everywhere except her throbbing gland, and she has the take a few deep breaths to resist squirming against the cushions.

“I’m paying attention. You’re the one with your eyes closed.” He’s right. She doesn’t know when they fluttered shut, only that it was too much, that her mind couldn’t focus on anything that wasn’t his  _ touch _ . “They just said that that box is worth eleven thousand dollars,” he says, and she can feel his smile, can scent it.

“You’re lying. You’re making that up. There’s no way-” She gasps when his tongue traces a circle around that gland beneath her ear, so close, so close- 

He pulls away from her skin, picking up the remote, and rewinding the DVR to rewatch the appraiser tell a frumpy little lady that this piece can go to auction for eight to eleven thousand dollars. “Told you,” he says, but his eyes are focused on the v of her t-shirt, and she drags his fingers to her collarbone, shivering when his knuckles skate down the valley between her breasts. She yanks the shirt over her head and watches as his eyes grow unfocused, as his hands trace the underside of her bra. She reaches back, unclasping it, letting it fall off her shoulders. 

She feels her rut burning a slow flame beneath her skin. His touches are soft on her skin, restrained, but she can see the energy vibrating beneath his composure.

And she wants it. Wants it raw and untempered. Wants it flaming against the heat she feels in her own veins. Wants him to let go and take her with everything he is.

“Rey,” he murmurs, his voice husky, his lips so close to her jaw, a breath away.

“If you kiss me,” she says, maneuvering her face in line with his, “you lose the bet.”

He moves a hairsbreadth closer. “How much longer do I have to wait to win?”

“Mhhh, six minutes? Can you wait that long, Ben? I don’t know that I can.” 

He brushes his knuckles over her jaw. “Ask me, Rey.”

“Will you ki-” She hasn’t even gotten the words out before his lips have slanted over hers with a force she wants to drown in. 

She pushes him back against the cushions, straddling his waist, her fingers trailing down his neck, resting on his collar bone to frame his throat.

His hands are trembling on the waistband of her leggings. “Fucking rip them, Ben Solo,” she practically growls against his mouth. And she nearly comes from the resolve hardening in his eyes, the satisfying sound of tearing polyester, the feel of his thick fingers dipping into the softest part of her.

She hates the feeling of her clothes, of his clothes, of anything that isn’t him. She wriggles out of the shredded leggings, only getting off of him long enough for him to divest himself of his own pants.

The sink of his cock between her tight walls leaves her a little paralyzed. How- how is anything this perfect? The jerk of his hips into hers snaps her back to reality, and she doesn’t so much choose to fuck him with her whole body so much as her body  _ requires  _ it.

Neither of them last long, not with his breath hot on her collar bone and her fingers digging into his shoulders.

And the fucking bond when she comes-

_ I love you.  _ And she can feel the intentionality he puts into it.  _ I love you I love you I love you. _

She’s amazed his mind can even form words because hers is just a jumble of his scent and his voice and her unbearable love for him.

And as the bond dissolves between them, she collapses, a little boneless against his shoulder. "So," she says. "What did I win?" Her breathing hasn't completely settled, and she can hear his heart skittering through his skin.

“What did you win?”

“For proving once and for all that  _ Antiques Roadshow _ is uniquely boring.”

She wants to swallow the grin that unfolds across his face. “I made you cookies.”

She looks him straight in the eyes, her face as serious as she can make it. “Ben Solo.”

“Yeah?”

“You are going to stand up, walk me to the kitchen, and hand-feed me those cookies.”

He blinks. “Now?”

“Please?”

She shrieks when he stands, scrabbling at his shoulders, clutching her legs around his waist. He places a hand between her shoulder blades to steady her, and she buries her face into his neck. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but soon, he’s placing small bites of the most perfectly done cookies on her tongue.

“Careful, don’t choke,” he says because she’s inhaling them so quickly that she starts to cough.

“Wait, but I heard you were into that!” she says, bursting into a fit of giggles.

He groans. “You’ve got to stop talking to Hux about our sex-life.”

* * *

“What do you need?” he asks her later, tangled between the sheets of his bed.

“Why the fuck are you asking me that?” she pants against the gland at his throat. “This is your heat. I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.”

“I want to give you everything.” His fingers swirl around her clit until she’s gasping. She rocks her hips into his as quickly as she can, even though it burns, even though it’s more than she can bear.

She’s determined not to come until he does. And she has to let her eyes flutter shut because it’s too much, his dark hair splayed on the starched pillows, the tremble of his bottom lip, the flush creeping up his throat. 

And it’s an impossibility: she can’t control the shattering of her orgasm, can’t control the arch of her back and the utterly embarrassing gasp of ecstasy she lets out. 

She can feel herself tightening on his cock from his point of view when their minds connect. Can see the way she looks to him, angelic in everything except wings and a halo.

When her aftershocks finally subside, she blinks her eyes open to find him staring at her with an intensity that makes her want to throw her arms across her body. She resists, bending instead to kiss the dewy skin at his shoulder. His hands curl around her hips, and she rocks herself against his cock, trying desperately to draw him in fuller, deeper, even though he is already locked inside her, so full, so deep. She drags a hand through her sweaty hair, a futile attempt to pull it out of her eyes.

He’s still looking at her like that, intense and burning, like he’s never seen anything like her. Like he wants to memorize her.

Which is ridiculous. They’ve had so much sex recently. He’s seen her like this. So many times. Dozens.

Except, maybe... maybe not like this. His eyes keep flicking up and down her body, hovering a second longer on her abdomen. On her scars.

And maybe it’s the haze of the drugs, or it’s the lingering high of his confession from earlier, maybe it’s the awe in his gaze-

But she gently moves his hands from her hips to her scars. His hands stiffen when he realizes what she’s doing, like he’s afraid her scars will burn his skin. She has to bite her lip and tighten her abs to keep from squirming, giggling at how ticklish his fingers are.

He spends a long time tracing them, his fingers following their curved path with the most intense gentleness. “Do you still feel any pain?” he asks.

She shakes her head, transfixed as she watches him explore her body. She tries to swallow the tears, tries to keep them in where he can’t see her weakness. But ever since meeting him, she hasn’t had much luck with repression. The hot wetness tracks down her face, and she can’t stop the shaking in her chest. 

He hands the corner of the sheet to wipe her face. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It not you-”

“I know.” And for some reason, that makes her cry harder. He pulls her into his chest, and holy fuck, it feels like coming home. “You’re not alone, Rey.”

“Neither are you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter is more of an epilogue. Expect it... soon..ish 
> 
> Love you all lots


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? No! This is definitely not some very convenient Deus Ex Machina...

It takes her an extraordinary amount of courage to ask him for the phone number. Ben seems a little hesitant to hand it over, like she’s going to do something with it that will make him regret it. And who knows, maybe he’s right.

She knows she should dial the number and actually talk into the phone, but she gets jittery just thinking about it, and decides to text instead.

_ Hi, it’s Rey, can I take you up on that lunch offer? _

_ Of course, why don’t you stop by? _

It turns out that Congress is out of session, and Leia Organa loves to cook in her spare time. And so Rey abroaches the large brownstone with a fair amount of trepidation. Perhaps she should have brought Ben along to calm her nerves, but a part of her figures that would make this even worse.

Leia lets her in with a warm smile, showing her where to put her shoes, offering her tea.

She sits at the kitchen counter, watching Leia maneuver around the kitchen (she had adamantly refused Rey’s offer of help in preparing food). Leia asks her polite questions about her life, her culinary preferences, her attitudes of the fluffy dog that bounds down the hall at the sound of voices.

Rey knows she being quiet and evasive. Knows this woman must sense her unease. But Leia does not comment, only offers wide smiles and generous amounts of honey in her tea.

It is only when the steaming plate is set in front of her, that Leia asks quietly. “What’s troubling you, Rey? Why did you ask to meet?”

Rey stares at the food in front of her with pointed attention, avoiding the soft gaze of this far-too-perceptive woman. She swallows hard before saying, “I don’t know what to do, I just feel powerless. I can’t promise him safety because I don’t feel safe myself.” Rey is realizing how Ben got so good at cooking because his mother’s incredible.

“He doesn’t need promises, Rey. It sounds like he just needs you.”

“I just want to help them. I can’t help all the Omegas and disenfranchised here, but if I can spare anyone from the horror I experienced in England...”

“Do you want to change things?” Leia asks her quietly.

“Yes, more than anything.”

Leia smiles at her. “And do you feel like you have the tools to do that?”

Rey pokes a little bit at her food with her fork, swirling it around. She doesn’t know if she likes where this is going. “I don’t know.”

“Do you like your job?”

Rey actually snorts at that. “Does anyone?”

Leia shrugs. “I find mine quite rewarding. A pain in the ass, but rewarding.”

Rey lets out a half-smile. “With all due respect, Senator, I don’t think I’m exactly cut out for political office.”

“I didn’t say you were. I was going to suggest you come work for me. I could use a better programming specialist than the one I have.”

Rey’s jaw drops. “You’ve got no idea my abilities, my experience-”

“I know who you work for, and if you’ve got the talent to work there, you’ve got the work ethic, you’ve got the passion. And I’m not above a little nepotism. I want to get to know you, Rey. And I want to reconnect with my son.”

Rey bites her lower lip. “And you’re trying to help Omegas?”

Leia nods. “We are not always successful, but we do try.”

“You didn’t exactly help your son.” And the moment the words are out, Rey wants to swallow them back up. She’s an idiot, she’s-

But Leia only sighs. “I failed my son. My husband, my brother, myself, we were all so determined to isolate ourselves from each other, that we isolated ourselves from him too. It’s no wonder he sought belonging elsewhere.” Leia looks at her intently. “You gave him what we wouldn’t. Rey, I’m still fighting for him. I don’t expect forgiveness, but I’d like to try. Will you help me?”

Rey has to swallow the tears gathering in her throat. “Yes, yes, I will.”

* * *

And life, it’s not perfect, but it’s _ good _ . 

Therapy with Maz isn’t easy. But (and she’ll never tell him this) Hux was right: trauma is not something that disappears on its own. And she’s starting to realize how much residual anger that she holds. That she displaces it and yells at Ben instead. 

There’s still the issue that she’s supposed to get pregnant and that’s quite literally impossible. The five-year mark inches closer, but Rey and Ben are no closer to a solution. They’ve looked into adoption, but there isn’t a way to do it that will count as them having their own.

“How,” he murmurs one morning as he breathes into her hair, “did I get so lucky that the universe paired me with you?” She turns a little so she can see his face, shadowed with the early morning light. For once, her eyes can meet his under that unwavering gaze. It still scares her, the intensity of what she feels for him.

Her fingers trail down the sides of his body, his obliques tensing when she skates over them. “Are you ticklish?” She does it again, and his face screws in concentration as he tries not to squirm. 

“No,” he says. “I’m not.”

But her hands are already skating down his body, farther down, her thumb massaging the muscle in the crease of his thigh, her fingers curling around his cock. The muscles in his neck flex like he’s trying to resist falling into her touch-

“Don’t,” she murmurs. “Just relax."

And then she moves down his body, maneuvering his legs so one rests over her shoulder, the other splayed out between the sheets. 

The little whimpers that escape from his throat make her smile as she lowers her mouth onto his cock. His scent is so strong like this, and she could do this forever, drink him in, adore him.

“Rey-” he says when he comes and his voice hits the exact tamber that it does when he says  _ I love you _ .

She collapses on the pillow next to him, and his hands are trying to work their way between her legs but she stops him. “Later. Right now, I just want to lie here with you.” 

“Alternative: I can make you come first.”

“Tempting,” she murmurs against his lip, dragging his arm from between their bodies so that it’s pinned over their heads. “But later.”

It’s probably only thirty seconds later when she hears his phone buzz softly on the table over his shoulder, over and over, and the only person who calls this many times in a row is Hux. She reaches over his body to click the answer button.

“Why?” Ben murmurs. “Do you want to talk to him?”

“No, but the fucker will just keep calling if we don’t pick up.”

Ben groans into the pillow.

“Hello?” she says into Ben’s phone.

“Rey?” Hux sounds breathless. "Shit, I need you to get down to the hospital now.”

Rey sits up, and Ben crinkles his eyebrows in confusion. “What? Why? What’s wrong?”

“Rey, I’ve found the solution to your predicament. I’ve just delivered an Omega infant, and the mother, well, she’s dead. There was a complication and she died in childbirth.”

“Oh, Hux, that’s awful. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Rey, you don’t get it. This child, I can forge the paperwork. I can put your names on it. She’s an orphan. There’s no one left to take care of her. She’s yours, if you want her.” 

The phone drops out of her hand, bouncing softly on the comforter. Ben picks it up and speaks into it. He listens for a long moment before looking over to Rey who still sits a bit shocked.

“Hux, we’ll call you back in five minutes.” He hangs up the phone.

“Ben,” she whispers. 

“I know.”

“It would change everything,” she says. 

Ben is quiet for a long moment. “It’s an Omega child?”

She looks at him carefully. “Is that okay?”

“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know if I can raise-” He trails off, and Rey studies the far off expression in his eyes. “Do you know how easy it was? For Snoke to take over my life?”

“We aren’t your parents,” she says softly. “We aren’t your uncle.”

“This world isn’t kind to Omegas. Do you realize that you would own her? The same way you own me?” His eyes are glassy. 

Rey is careful with her next words. “Ben, we can raise her differently than you were raised. Than I was raised. We know what it means to be treated as less than. We know what to do differently.” Rey swallows hard. “If we don’t take her, she’ll be a ward of the state. Like I was.”

Unspoken is the knowledge that by taking this child, Rey will live. That she won’t be separated from him. That they get to live together, love each other, grow old-. 

“Okay,” he says.

And Rey picks up the phone, dialing the number. “Okay,” she says to Hux. “Okay.”

_ ~Fin~ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for taking this lovely journey with me! I love every one of you very much, and all of your kudos and comments warm my heart. See you in the next story...
> 
> All my love,  
Vestina


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